


The Order of Things

by hyekyo



Series: Being and Becoming [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Slow Build, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 69,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyekyo/pseuds/hyekyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime knew he was not ready for something as serious as Brienne deserves but he was not ready to let her go either, if she had offered to stay in the liminal he knew he would have agreed with her, exploring and bickering and touching, but the moment he realized he was forcing her to acknowledge what it was between them he was in effect forcing her, and himself as well, to move past the space between and on forward, into the safe territory and easily navigable terrain of friendship. And he didn’t like the turnout one bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The epistemic break

He called her ugly the first time they met, which was expected since she was not exactly a typical beauty. She had hoped however that he was more than what his name makes him out to be, arrogant yes but a little more polite perhaps, but her little surprise came from his disregard of Catelyn Stark standing between them when he made his uncalled-for comments. She didn’t really care though that time that he found her ugly, she had been called much worse before but she felt, oddly, a little disappointed that he was less than who she thought he was.

She could not connect the man who wrote the book praised as among the best auditing materials to the man Catelyn introduced her to. He was young when he wrote the book and it was easy to read and to follow and she had referred to it many times in the past, even after graduate school. There was hype around him, the intelligent, young and beautiful Jaime Lannister. She had attended some lectures he gave back in her university days and girls would swoon and surround him like moths. But the man she met in the Riverlands was not that man. He is golden and beautiful yes and he was older, much older (which she expected considering the number of years passed) but there was no fire in his eyes.

Catelyn was sending them to Roose Bolton at Harrenhal to check the accounts. There were some embezzlement charges raised against Bolton and they had to ascertain the accusations for, though Catelyn was wary of the man, he had been in service to the Starks for several years making her keen on disbelieving the charges.

They reached Harrenhal some days after their initial meeting. They met in the departure lobby of the airport where he made several offhanded comments on her physical attributes but surprisingly remained silent the entire flight.

 

 

They were put in a company housing the minute they arrived, the remains of their first day left to themselves. It was a graciously-spaced house, much much bigger than the house she rents at the Riverlands.

“So how should we pass the time?” Jaime asked, head cocking to the side, sitting on a stool by the mini bar. He had unloaded his bags in a bedroom in the second floor he claimed as soon as he walked through the door.

“I’ll look at the files,” Brienne said, mostly to herself, moving to hide herself in her bedroom, the snide remarks he threw at her as soon as they hit the ground had gotten to her but she promised herself she would not let her temper (and his quips) get the best of her. She only needed space to breathe and gather her wits about her.

“You’re no fun wench.”

“My name is Brienne,” anger instantly flared up at the term, pent-up irritation and frustration at being put together with him came bubbling up and in a second she crossed the distance between them, hands clenched at her side.

He almost laughed but did not though a sarcastic grin continued playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’re much uglier up close.”

She heaved, anger rising up to color her cheeks. “All my life men like you had sneered at me. And all my life I have been pounding men like you into the dust.”

He laughed until he abruptly stopped, mouth setting into a thin line, “There are no men like me. Only me.” And he stomped away.

 

 

“Good morning,” he said the following day, gesturing to the chair beside him. “Breakfast.” She had not seen him for the rest of the day yesterday. She slipped out to get something to eat last night when she found that he was gone. She was not the only one unhappy with the arrangements.

“Thank you,” she acknowledged and sat down, hauling her laptop bag on another chair. She wondered briefly at his politeness and furrowed her brows, knowing that some insults lie in there somewhere.

“You’re quite a big girl so I am not sure if you need more.” He pushed a plate towards her.

_Ah,_  she felt the temptation to frown but she will not let him get to her. “I can manage,” she bit into a piece of bread, spread the newspaper he had left shuffled on the table and flipped the pages, looking for the front page.

“Surely you can,” he smiled, “You’re Big Brienne. And Big Brienne pounds men into the dust.”

She did not give him the satisfaction of looking at him. She located the front page underneath all the papers and began to read.

“You’re no fun wench,” he urged on, looking expectantly at her, waiting for another flare up at the term.

“As I have been told.”

He settled back onto his chair, smiling, a cup of coffee in his hand.

 

 

They were provided some staff members to assist them during the auditing. Jaime easily fell into small chats with the staff members and Brienne was glad for she was not really good at meeting new people and introducing herself. Catelyn usually did that for her. But she was glad nonetheless, she welcomed new company, Jaime had been grating on her nerves since they were introduced back at the Riverlands and she would like Jaime to stop making her the topic of all his quips.

“And this is Brienne,” he said, a hand curling around her arm and she shot her head up involuntarily, “She doesn’t speak much for she sometimes forgets she can. I apologize for her in advance.” He was smiling at her and she felt the intense urge to smack the smile off his face.

“Hello, I am Brienne Tarth,” she flicked her eyes from the man beside Jaime whose ID read Steelshanks to the older man on his other side whose name she caught as Qyburn, “I will be working with you. I am in your care.”

“And I as well,” she did not know whether Jaime spoke those words to her or to the two men beside him. He was looking at her like there was something he knew that she doesn’t. She returned his grin with a scowl.

“See,” he gestured to the two men, “She is as fierce as a bear. It will be a very interesting year, don’t you think?”

Their response were all lost on her the instant Jaime reached out to touch her hand, a placating touch he placed on her wrist. She immediately pulled her hand away, eyes narrowing at him, daring him to do that again and suffer the consequences but he held up a hand in a sign of defeat though his green eyes clearly told her of his amusement.

 

 

They met Roose Bolton some four months after they had arrived. He was in some business meeting at Winterfell he said and he needed to be back there soon. To say that he was not a pleasant man was an understatement—his deadpan face was as disturbing as it is (and his pink suit was disconcerting), but the way he seemed to drawl his words made her discomfited.  Jaime took the lead into discussing things with him, knowing she was not someone who could use words well enough. She was good with numbers and discovering patterns but wordplay she had never mastered and she stood silently beside Jaime while Roose Bolton began negatively commenting on their output (or lack of) so far.

“I don’t like that guy,” Jaime muttered when the said man left, frowning, looking at the files.

“Yes,” she nodded, typing away at her laptop, not really minding Jaime’s chatter. She had grown used to his arrogance and his sharp words (and even at his use of the term wench to refer to her) over the course of sixteen weeks, though there were days when he still did get to her and she would flare up and threaten him with bodily harm. She had stopped calling him by his last name. He had insisted she call him Jaime but she found that her cheeks would burn a bit whenever she tried to test his name in her mouth, she simply stopped calling him by anything at all.

“But pink suits him.”

His tone was dead serious and Brienne had to look at him to understand what he meant, some double entendre perhaps but he only blinked at her and a laugh slowly bubbled in her throat until she began chuckling. It felt weird to be laughing and it even felt weirder when Jaime joined her and began laughing as well. She wiped the tears from her eyes. “Sorry, sorry,” but she can’t keep herself from chuckling.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “That was fun wench. Didn’t know you dig his type.”

She fought another urge to laugh and failed. There was a voice at the back of head telling her to inform him that Roose Bolton was not her type though as to why that would matter she did not comprehend. “Stop it Jaime,” she mouthed, clutching at her ribs.

He only watched her for a while, his eyes taking on an amused look until he said, “Jaime is not that hard to pronounce, isn’t it?” A grin played on his lips while he twirled a pen in his fingers.

She stiffened, felt the beginning of a blush creeping at the corners of her cheeks and she quickly went back to her laptop, wiped the tears in her eyes and began typing. She knew he was watching her, a prickle on her neck informed her, and she chanced a glance at him only to be responded by a tilt of his head. He was smiling.

“Lunch wench,” he stood up suddenly and grabbed her phone lying beside her laptop and began flicking through. She scowled at him, looked at the clock on her laptop screen, grabbed her wallet and took long strides to catch him by the ascending elevator. She reached him just as the doors open and he pulled her in, dropping her phone in her hands.

“What did you do?” she hissed, catching her breath, looking around. They were alone.

His only response was to pull out his phone and dial her number. The ringing blared loudly in the enclosed space and he laughed, warm and rich and she glared at him. Gesturing at his phone, she dropped her eyes to look at the vibrating phone in her hands to realize that he had changed his name in her phonebook.

_Jaime the wench’s type of guy._

 

 

There had been many mornings like this, when his watching TV early in the morning would cause them to be late. He would be flicking through the channels, commenting on everything (“This is interesting,” he gestured to lions mating in the screen, “Can you really do that in fifteen minutes?” referring to some cooking show) while she put away the plates and the cups. She was letting water run through the dishes when she noticed he stopped agitating the remote control. She peeked from the kitchen.

“Brienne,” he called her, eyes till glued to the screen, “Look!”

“What?” she feigned annoyance when she called back but nevertheless went to sit on the arm of the couch, her hands soapy with suds.

“Look at the bear.”

She frowned and rolled her eyes, anticipating a jest.

“See?” he turned to her, grinning, “It looks like you!”

She scowled yet again and sighed exasperatedly, threw some suds at him and went back to the kitchen. She heard him laughing as a growl erupted from the bear in the screen. She maybe big than most girls but she doesn’t look like a bear, she is certain of that.

 

 

But there had been many mornings like this too, when they would wake up so late and would not have time for TV, even breakfast.  

“Hurry,” she said, biting a toast on her way out. Jaime was yawning, his tie askew. She stopped by the doorway and involuntarily tugged at his tie to straighten it. Upon seeing Jaime becoming visibly surprised, she quickly turned around realizing her action, and mouthed how they are going to miss their bus if he doesn’t hurry up, jogging to go on ahead of him, hoping to cool her burning face.

He was smiling and humming some tune looking like he was in on some secret he would not tell her when he reached the bus stop.

 

 


	2. Ebb and flow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She pressed her palms to her heated cheeks resolving to avoid any such conversations with Jaime in the future

“Jaime,” she said, blood thumping in her ears. There was a slight buzzing earlier in her head when she woke up and Jaime gave her some aspirin and urged her to take a day off but she refused. She was reading through some materials last night and she had the feeling that she was getting somewhere, things have begun to show a pattern and if she drops it now she would never get it again.

He walked to where she was seated, dragged a chair beside her and looked gingerly at the paper she was holding. She knew he knew what she was trying to say. He had learned all of the variations in her mention of his name by now, the subtleties in her tone and he knew then that she had discovered something.

“Frey,” she whispered, unblinking, afraid she’ll lose the pattern if she closes her eyes even for a second.

“Walder Frey,” he repeated, the name rolling in his tongue. He looked at her, trying to piece everything together in his mind, one by one it all clicked, a light turning on somewhere and he broke into a grin. He stood up, shuffled through a pile of papers on his desk, picked out some sheets and laid everything out on her table. “This,” he said, gesturing to one sheet, “Is Black Walder.”

“Yes,” she said, a light blinking behind her closed lids. She did not notice she had closed them, the buzzing in her head growing angrier and she had to clench her jaws to force the pain away.

“Bolton doesn’t know.” He noticed beads of sweat on her forehead and he looked at her worriedly. “You alright?”

She turned to him, he suddenly sounded too far, and she felt floating and swimming in air, her body losing balance and sparks were going on and off in her eyes. She tried to squint her eyes to gather light to see him but he was too bright yet too dark and she couldn’t and she was tilting, careening and she was falling down.

 

 

When she came to he was seated across from her working on his laptop. She had apparently been laid out on the couch and there were some medicine foil on the low table in between them. She sat up, blinking her eyes, adjusting it to the light overhead when he looked up from his laptop and tensed.

“You alright?” he asked and she remembered him asking her a similar question sometime not long ago. His eyes were focused on her, fingers on the keyboard unmoving. He sprang up quickly, tossing the slim laptop on his seat and sat himself on the edge of the table across her. There were crinkles in his eyes and a line on his forehead and she knew this was the tensest she had seen him.

“I think so,” she met his eyes briefly, scanning his hands, noted the way they clench and unclench at his lap, the hard line of his mouth and the intensity of his gaze. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

“I did?” she asked frowning. She has never been one to faint because of a slight headache, though the buzzing earlier in her head proved that it was not just a slight headache.

“Yes,” he let out a long exhale of breath at the sight of her not seeming to be fainting again anytime soon. “And I carried you to the couch. Gods, you were heavy wench!” he dramatically exclaimed, smiling yet his smile didn’t reach his eyes. He tentatively reached out to touch the back of his palm against her forehead to test her temperature but faltered.

“I’m alright now,” she nodded at him, “I’m not feverish or anything.” She looked away when he did follow through, his hand warm against her forehead and she thought it lingered there a little longer than it should. She backed away a bit, feeling her temperature rising (and she knew it has nothing to do whatsoever with fever) the contact lost and he dropped his hand on his lap.

“Well,” he folded his hands together, frustration briefly crossing his features. He abruptly stood up, his back to her and went back to pick the discarded machine from the seat he vacated. “I need you to rest thoroughly however,” he said without looking at her, “Tomorrow we’ll piece the rest of the puzzle.”

“I can work now.”

“Tomorrow Brienne,” he said, glancing at her, eyes narrowed at nothing in particular, “It’s almost six anyway. We’ll get a cab and buy dinner on the way home. No work this evening.”

The way he said home sent a flutter in her stomach but she shoved it away, attributing her muddled feelings to the headache.

 

 

Home consisted of pizza slices and some animal show playing in the television. Brienne thought she would puke at the thought of food but when Jaime opened the box, she realized she was starving.  They were sitting on the couch together, a dolphin jumping across the blue waters in the screen which reminded her of Tarth, of real home, though when Jaime placed the pepperonis from his slice to hers (and stole olives from her slice to his in exchange) she realized that this being called home doesn’t sound bad at all.

“That is cute,” Jaime suddenly blurted out as the dolphin danced on water. “Have you seen a similar show at the capital?”

“Never been to the capital,” she responded, mouth filled with pepperonis.

“Really?” he had sat up from having slumped on the couch and stared incredulously at her, “You’ve never been to the capital?”

She shook her head, eyes not meeting his. Maybe it was his concern but his hand had been briefly flitting to touch her arm and forehead again and again during their ride back to the company housing. She doesn’t want to dwell too much on it but it had caused her skin to heat up a fraction than normal and she was seriously considering having herself admitted to a hospital thinking that she had contracted flu or something. That would be a better explanation for the sudden rise in her temperature than Jaime’s touches.

“I’ll take you to see it.”

She raised a brow at him, eyes glancing briefly at him. She considered his words. When it registered to her that the words coming from his mouth sounded eerily similar to a date she shook her head and steered her mind away from that direction. There must be a catch in there somewhere; Jaime would never proffer something so easily if he doesn’t see it as a chance to make fun of her.

“What do you say?” he nudged her with his elbow, the fact that he was waiting and expecting a response took her aback.

“I’m not sure where Catelyn will send me next,” she said taking another bite just to keep her hands busy, “Besides, I’m not good company.”

The dolphins were lost from the screen in an instant as he abruptly changed the channel. “You’re a bit dull yes,” he snapped, the screen a sudden haze of images as he tersely troubled the remote control, and she turned to look at him in surprise. “And stubborn,” he added, staring away from her, rapidly flicking through the channels, not really looking at the shifting shows in the telly when he suddenly stopped, white noise in the screen.

“Jaime.”

He stood up, “I lost appetite. I’m going out.”

“What?” she followed him as he made his way to rinse his hands in the kitchen lavatory. “What happened to you?”

He looked at her, mouth open as if about to speak but he shook his head instead and walked past her to the front door. “Rest Brienne,” he called out, the door closing with a thud behind him.

 

 

Jaime had told her to rest but that was exactly the opposite of what she was doing. She tried to lie on her bed in her room on the ground floor, door ajar to hear him in case he comes back. Her mind kept replaying the events earlier when he suddenly upped and leave. She had never seen him that annoyed, except perhaps when they first arrived in Harrenhal, but that seemed to be lifetimes ago and the Jaime and Brienne of that moment seemed different from the Jaime and Brienne of this moment, twenty-nine weeks and four days after, (yes, she had been keeping count), and though they still bicker about the most mundane things it was usually in good spirits. She could tell he was enjoying their bickering as well as she does, but well, now she is uncertain, perhaps he had been tolerating her dullness and stubbornness all this time and earlier he simply snapped.

Brienne turned on her laptop, to keep her mind away from thinking too much about Jaime. She was feeling a lot better now and perhaps she can continue with what she was doing earlier before she fainted. There were still so many things she needed to piece together but everything is making sense. Walder Frey seemed to be behind the embezzlement; his son Black Walder has been posing as a nondescript employee at Bolton’s and was given access to the big accounts. The wire transfer records were muddled but Black Walder’s name is surely in there somewhere, she just needed concrete evidence. Black Walder’s relation to Walder Frey is a dead giveaway but she knew there must be more to it than that.

She looked at the wire transfer records some more, the transfers were dated in intervals, intervals she recognized from Roose Bolton’s schedules which his executive secretary informed her of. “Jaime, I think I—” sitting up and flinging herself off the bed when she abruptly stopped, realizing she was alone. _Or maybe Jaime did mean it about the dolphin show_ , the voice in her head sprung all of a sudden. If he did, then she thought too little of him and she ought to apologize when he returns.

She decided she would wait for him as she stood up and went to the living room. She hurled herself on the center of the couch and grabbed the remote control Jaime had tossed on the cushions. She turned the tube on, white noise greeted her and she quickly flicked through. There was another animal show on his favourite channel and she almost laughed at the timing, for bears were on the screen and she watched, telling herself she doesn’t look like one.

 

 

A movement beside her was what jerked her awake. The television was off, all lights were off except for a lamp in her bedroom which she realized she had left on earlier, orange glow spreading from her open bedroom door to the living room. She knew it was him even in the dark, she had memorized every plane and angle of his; she was good at memorizing people’s faces Catelyn once told her and Jaime was all she had been seeing for more than half a year so it was more or less expected. She could read every tilt of his jaw, every cock of his head, every furrow of his brows, she was certain she had gotten to know his habits a bit better that she was quite sure she could predict how he would react on certain things. Though her inability to predict him earlier gnawed at her certainty, she knew it was Jaime sitting beside her on the couch.

“I told you to rest, didn’t I?” his voice was low, but still it perturbed the stillness of the dark and she almost jumped.

“I was resting,” she whispered and turned to him. His eyes were closed but she knew he could feel her every movement with space so scant between them.

“Were you? You should’ve gone to bed.”

“I’m sorry,” she gambled and watched as his eyes opened, emeralds burning in the darkness of the room, “I think…” what does she think? She might be making a huge assumption and by doing so she might be risking herself, she had suffered rebukes long enough and she wouldn’t offer herself for more. But this was Jaime and Jaime is her friend, she _believes,_ and she is willing to gamble.

“You think what?”

“Uh,” she furrowed her brows, words getting lost in her train of thought.

“You think what wench?” there was now a grin ghosting his face and she could clearly see how he was enjoying seeing her squirm. She frowned, so much for thinking of his feelings when clearly he was just teasing her. But she nevertheless felt a little lighter seeing him smile which seemed infectious given the little smile reflected on her lips. She knew, despite how much he seemed to be having fun at her discomfort and him falling back immediately to his regular teasing self (she thought briefly that she would let him be but he was grinning _too much_ ) that she ought to give him a piece of her mind and in response to the smug look on his face she clocked him in the jaw.

“That’s what I think,” she stood up from the couch, intent on hiding her blushing cheeks and widening grin in her bedroom when she bumped with the table in the process forcing a hiss from her throat. He laughed even as he hissed at his own pain, cradling his swiped jaw with one hand, laughing even more as he followed her.

“I think you are trying to invite me to your bed,” he drawled, languidly leaning against the doorframe, one hand curling against the door jamb. There was still a grin playing in his lips but the glint in his eyes proposed something else.

Her eyes shot open at him, the suggestions of blush burning bright on her white cheeks. “Don’t be so full of yourself Lannister,” to which he laughed louder, the glint lost the moment he blinked and she managed to recover herself just in time to find him pulling himself closer towards her. In retaliation, she pushed him out the door in an instant and she heard him laughing still on the other side of the dark wood. She pressed her palms to her heated cheeks resolving to avoid any such conversations with Jaime in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 still in Harrenhal, one more and we're moving to a new location.


	3. Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were too old and she was too wise and he was not but somehow he can force himself to do the right thing, or not act on the right thing, because god, he knew it would feel so right.

Jaime had lost count of the number of times Brienne informed him of how a camping trip is extremely childish. He never heeded anyway, grinning to himself as he tossed his weekend bag on the overhead compartment, he told her they could play at being hedge knights, build a fire and a tent, hunt some rabbits and eat under the stars. It was stupid she said and very into her uptight character, she began listing reasons why it is not just childish but utterly impractical as well. But he knew she was excited at the idea. The moment he mentioned camping and outdoors some two days ago her eyes lit up beautifully, widening like saucers, oceans and seas in her eyes. He would like to see them again he thought so no matter how much she disagreed with him, he made sure they would be taking this trip. Besides, they have almost completed the report on Walder Frey, some more information and they could send it to Catelyn for her to take the appropriate action.

“I told you this is a stupid idea Jaime,” Brienne settled on the seat beside the window. It was almost dusk, the sky a swirl of red and violets and the bus ride to the Maidenpool reservation would be some two hours and a half.

“Don’t overthink,” he commanded as he took the seat next to her, fitting himself snugly beside her. He laughed as she sharply turned to him and scooted closer to the window to create some semblance of space between them. His response was to pull her arm, “I won’t be responsible in case you get a bump on the head if you fall asleep against the window.”

“I won’t hold you responsible,” was what she mouthed though she had moved some inches back closer to him.  

“Relax Brienne,” the words felt wrong suddenly in his mouth, an unexpected image in his head that involved her underneath and him leaning over. He shook his head and glanced at her looking out into the sinking sun, her eyes sparkling in the waning light, the imagery gone and he wondered where that had come from.

“I’ve never been camping before,” she began, her voice low, almost drowned in the sea of noises around them.

“This is a first then.”

“This is,” her tone seemingly lonely as she turned to watch him. Surprise etched on her face when she found him studying, cheeks automatically turning pink, bright against the dusky sky and she returned to looking out through the window, herself reflected back through the glass.

He watched entranced as her reflection danced and swam. _In this light she could almost be a beauty_. Her eye caught him staring at her reflected self and she averted her gaze, turned inwardly to block his view of her reflection and hide herself from him. He almost touched her arm at that but he held himself in check, surprised at the sudden tenderness of his thoughts and almost-actions. Clearing his throat he began, “I was about twelve when I first went to a camping trip.”

That got her attention. She turned slowly to him.

“With a foster brother,” he met her eyes, curious as to what she would react upon hearing him refer to Rhaegar Targaryen. There had been rumors he was certain and for the first time he hoped not everyone has heard of it. It never really bothered him before, the way people’s eyes would look at him, judging him with their stares. His response was to laugh nonchalantly at them—he could care less if they think little of him. But now he knew he would not bear it to see the same judgement reflected in Brienne’s beautiful beautiful eyes.

There was recognition in her eyes but she did not show any other emotion. Her only other response was to lean closer, to look more at him and urge him wordlessly to continue with his story. He had almost heaved a sigh of relief.

“Some camping place near Casterly. There were about six of us, Addam, you've met him at the Riverlands, and some kids from the Rock, I forgot, but there were six of us, the oldest was Rhaegar,” he stopped there and looked at her, waiting for a flicker in her eye, for a turn of her head, a pursing of her lips but there was none, her eyes kept looking at him expectantly, “By midnight we decided to tell stories.”

“What stories?” she asked when he did not continue.

A smirk formed on his mouth, “Stories not fit for your ears my lady.”

She blushed then, understanding lending her eyes wide. Her response was to smack him in the arm.

“Though I can tell you,” he leaned closer, breath ghosting along her cheeks, “If you insist.”

“Shut up Jaime,” earning him another smack.

He only laughed, and settled heavily against his seat, head resting on the cushions and he extended an arm to brush carefully against hers. He was tensed for a moment, anticipating her pulling away, his arm hovering ready to curl back into him in case she can only respond with rejection. Though the girl stiffened a little at the touch, she did not move away. Slowly he relaxed his arm, skins touching and he felt her warmth creep into him and he turned slowly towards her, wanting more of her heat and scent.

He noticed she was responding similarly, her body turning to his ever so slightly, her arm sliding against his and he took the initiative to bury his head in the crook of her neck, making himself comfortably snug against her warmth in the impossibly small constricting space.

“Jaime,” was her only response.

“I think I need to close my eyes wench. Do me a favor and stop squirming.”

She huffed, a stream of air worrying the strands of his hair and he had almost leaned in then, to catch the puff of air into his mouth and follow through by closing the distance between them with a press of his lips to hers, nibble onto her lower lip and introduce his tongue inside the wet cavern of her mouth and taste her. _Taste her_.

“I’ll wake you up when we get there,” her voice stopped his body from acting on his thoughts however and he was thankful for that, he was not afraid of being beaten to a bloody pulp (though he had seen her do exactly that when they ran into a thief the other day) but he was frightened of the thought of losing this friendship, this relationship, whatever this is.

“Then we can share stories.”

 

 

The disappearance of the hum of the bus was what told him they have reached their destination. Jaime did not open his eyes, the remnants of sleep still heavy in his head and the warmth of his seatmate too comfortable to leave. Brienne’s hand slowly crept to his, touching him tentatively and he felt keen on responding with a returning touch when she spoke his name slowly, gently.

He opened his eyes, took a moment to breathe into her neck, breathe her scent, slowly pulling away, disentangling the arm he had unconsciously wrapped around hers, and the hand he had pulled her fingers with, each of his fingers tightly wound around each of hers. He wiped sleep off his face and stifled a yawn, limbs feeling like jelly.

Brienne did not speak though she followed him as he stood up and retrieved their bags from the overhead compartments.

They did a little trek from the bus terminal to the reservation area, gathered the equipments they rented and proceeded to the camping grounds. Brienne did not utter any word while they made camp. Jaime had to poke her to reply when they were putting up the tent. Despite it being her first time camping, she seemed to know what she was doing as she began the fire.

“I read stuff,” she said as she began stoking the embers, “I wanted to go camping when I was little but my brother died while on such a trip, he drowned in a river you see, so my father did not let me.”

She said it so abruptly, like she was commenting on the weather or something similarly quotidian that it took him off-guard. “I begged,” she continued, “But he did not want to, I didn’t know why then. I cried for days. Only when father told me that he doesn’t want to lose me the way he lost Galladon did I stop crying. I promised him I would never leave him, nor try to leave him again.”

Jaime sat beside her, feeling like a fish out of water. It was the most personal story of Brienne that he heard so far. She had told him of the blue waters of Tarth and he had commented that he would want to see it sometime in the future and she agreed to provide him accommodation on the condition that he would bring his manners to Tarth and leave his loose mouth and sharp tongue somewhere else. But he had never thought to ask about her family; it never really occurred to him that families might still matter to someone. He had stopped caring about families some time ago and never really thought about caring about anyone again so soon. _You care for her_ , unbidden his eyes wandered to her lips, her tongue briefly flicking out to run along her lower lip, sending a jolt through his spine. He frowned at himself, at how easily distracted he was. He looked back at the fire, bright and burning now, and he poked at a rock with a stick. He brought his mind to things that matter, to things that he care about, to understand what she was telling him, what she was showing him by telling him this story, what she was opening herself to. “I’m sorry.”

She looked at him, shadows dancing on her face. She smiled, a little smile that tugged at some corner of his heart, “It’s alright. It has been many years ago. I only remembered it now.”

“How was he? I mean…do you remember your brother?” he recalled his brother Tyrion with fondness, recalling every moment he called him brother, following him around, wondering when everything had fallen apart.

“Not that much,” she shrugged, “I was young. Very young. Much much little than I am now obviously.” She laughed softly, the dark taking all her inhibitions away.

“Obviously,” he grinned back, his hand itching to reach out to brush some strands of hair that have fallen on her face. He wrung both hands, clenching and unclenching, confused at his body trying to have a volition of its own. “Since you told me your story,” he cleared his throat, “I will tell you mine.”

She arched a brow, “Stories not fit for a lady’s ear?”

His grin widened and with a low voice he said, “Those are for later.”

She rolled her eyes. “What is it then?”

He inwardly smiled when she scooted closer, not minding the dirt. She mimicked his poking at the fire with a stick she found lying nearby, the fire hissing and golden in the dark. She looked at him like a child would to a parent about to tell a bedtime story. “About Aerys.”

A shadow flitted across her face and for a minute he could not see her reaction. It was easy to read her face, her whole thought process mirrored in every line, every curve, every movement of her eyes and mouth and losing sight of her in the dark made him afraid of the very real possibility of her bolting out and leaving him alone. “Go on,” her voice urged her and when he looked up he found her blue eyes shining.

“I assume you heard the rumors.”

“I have. Everyone in our field has.”

“Is that why you hated me in the beginning?” he cocked his head to one side, settling into a more comfortable position.

“I didn’t hate you.”

He pursed his lips, considering his words carefully, “Then if that wasn’t hate what was it?”

She searched for his eyes then, “You disappointed me.”

He leaned back, legs stretched out before him.

“You were not the man the stories made you out to be.”

“The stories about Aerys or my past glory?” he had to smirk at himself at that.

She mimicked his position, “Both. I attended your lectures, read the book you wrote and some other materials you published. They were good. But only for a time. After Aerys,” she glanced at him, “After the issue with the Targaryens…you lost your fire.”

“My fire,” he considered the words. “You know my father of course, Tywin Lannister is ruthless. Rhaegar was a friend you see and his father Aerys offered me a job at the Targaryen Conglomerate. I was young then, still basking in my glory after the book was well received, I was everywhere but my father was not so pleased with that, he was never pleased with anything and he wanted more. He wanted me to take over the Lannister Corporation and build a better empire than the Targaryens. I was young and a rebel, wanting to prove I can do without father shadowing me at every turn, believing I was, how do you say it, invincible. I accepted the position, worked hard, played dumb at all bad dealings, illegal activities, you know it, you know what I’m referring to. I was Aerys’ right hand, I knew everything, at one point I think I had been running the entire conglomerate.

Until one day, the issue with the power plant, which was kept secret, almost exploded. It was about to literally implode. It was uncontainable, so to speak, and Aerys wanted to hush the media about it. People have died in there and more are about to die, the plant was shut down, they were trying to contain it and in the process many were trapped inside. Aerys knew father was going to tell the media, I was privy to everything after all and Tywin is my father. I begged him to uncover the issue, pull out the remaining people and ask for help but he didn’t heed. More died. Everyone in there died.

When he was cornered he cut himself, bled himself dry, bled himself to death. The conglomerate disintegrated soon afterwards and Rhaella, Aerys’ wife before long died of grief, Rhaegar in an accident along with his siblings. Everyone working for the Targaryens had fled, I was the only one left after the disintegration, a Lannister in the midst of the Targaryens. Everyone knew who will gain from such demise.

I offered to foster the remaining Targaryen child but Ned Stark judged me guilty. He sent the kid abroad across the Narrow Sea.” he looked at her then, wondering how she would take it. He had never told it to anyone, never felt the need to justify himself to anyone, _only now._ He felt parched, so parched that his mouth went dry as he waited for a response.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” it was only when she responded had he realized he had held his breath.

He shrugged, sitting up, watched the flames lick and burn and hiss. “My fire,” he laughed softly, “Was snuffed out after that. Isn’t it ironic? How I am working now for the wife of the man who judged me guilty?” he laughed again, but this time it sounded harsher.

The crackle of the fire was enough noise to deafen him. He was about to stand up, resume putting up the tent when she whispered, “You are a better man than you think you are.”

 

 

“Seriously Jaime?” Brienne held a bag of marshmallows in her hands.

“Of course,” Jaime grabbed the bag, popped it open and began skewering marshmallows and setting them above the fire.

“Are you twelve?”

“Thirteen,” he laughed. “You are twelve.”

She rolled her eyes but did turn some of the burnt marshmallows.

Jaime watched her from the corner of his eye. She was smiling and he couldn’t help the equivalent smile playing on his lips. He was thankful she hadn’t run off on him yet, even if she had wanted to it would be unwise on many levels. For one, it was almost midnight, public transportation had ceased operation a couple of hours ago. After he told her his story she seemed to have settled into a lighter mood, a look that could be understanding or sympathy or respect or something similar settling in her eyes, rendering them bluer. He found his smiles seemed to come easier, more genuine and he realized he had never felt like this before.

She opened the bag of chips and soda he packed in his weekend bag. “Junk food everything. Can’t believe I’m doing this with you.”

“Of course you are. Unless you want to do something else?”

She rolled her eyes again, threw a rock at him and unpacked some more foodstuffs from the bag.

“How come you are working for Catelyn by the way?” he asked.

“She was a fellow at the Reach University when I was in undergrad.” She popped a chip into her mouth. “I travelled to the Reach for college. You might not remember but you lectured there for a time. I’m not sure when.”

He nodded, “I think I remember. But I don’t remember you.”

“I was not really…” she chose her words, “Active so to speak. If I had asked you a question then, or commented on something you would have probably responded with crude remarks about my appearance, or my height.”

“Fair enough,” though he had to frown inwardly, thinking he would have and would have probably been unapologetic about it. But he was glad she did not, he was not so certain about what he would have said, about how much he would have hurt her then. He was tempted, however, to tell her there was nothing wrong with her appearance nor her height. What she lacked in physical beauty she makes up for in dedication, honor and skill. And he had gotten used to her, so much so that he had rather developed a certain fondness for the sprinkling of freckles on her skin, so much partiality he was tempted to see and confirm if her freckles really do cover her entire body.

“Catelyn was a member of my panel then and she encouraged me to apply for a scholarship at the Westerlands which I did so I lived for a time near Casterly Rock and completed graduate school."

He was at the capital then, working for the Targaryens. But he remembered being invited to a presentation at the Westerlands by Catelyn Stark. He had the feeling that had he attended, he would have met Brienne earlier.

“After graduation I worked for a time for Renly Baratheon,” a blush suspiciously colored her cheeks.

“The youngest Baratheon? The gay kid?” he watched her reactions and an irritable feeling rose abruptly in his stomach. “You fancy him, don’t you?”

“I don’t!” her answer was immediate and defensive.

“Of course you do,” he spat, poked brusquely at the burnt marshmallows, “Renly Baratheon with his well-pressed suits and flowery perfume. How could you not?” He looked away from her, “Everyone knows his proclivities wench.”

“I don’t.” He did notice the change in her reaction, “At least not anymore. For a time yes, but that was before I realized he was…in love with someone else.”

“Loras Tyrell.”

“Yes.”

“I assume you’ve learned your lesson.” He surreptitiously glanced at her.

She frowned. “What lesson?”

“To fancy a real man Brienne. A real man who looks more like a man than you do.”

She frowned some more and threw another stone at him. He only laughed, the bad taste in his mouth gone. He could show her how a real man is, he was tempted to tell her he was strong enough.

“How long did you work for the gay kid?” he earned another frown at that but he only laughed again and poked at her with a stick.

“Two years then Catelyn recruited me and that was that.” She tossed another chip into her mouth and swatted at him. “Stop it Jaime.”

“Make me,” he poked again, mouth now full of marshmallows.

 

 

Their campfire was the lone campfire tonight Jaime could tell. There was neither smoke nor chatter in the near campsites. They have settled into a patch of green surrounded by trees, the moon clearly visible overhead, obstructed only by some branches and twigs reaching out to the sky. They had fallen into comfortable silence, food and drinks gone, stories told. He was looking up overhead and he reckoned it must have been some minutes past one in the morning. He learned she had once a cat she named Blue but the cat died when she left for college. In exchange he told her about the stray dog he picked up one evening at the Rock when he was about ten. It was sick and he nursed it back to health. He didn’t have a chance to name it anything since his father sent it to the pound immediately as soon as he knew of it.

“Aren’t you going to sleep Jaime?” he knew she needed sleep, she hadn’t been sleeping much lately, always reasoning that they were so close, too close to uncovering the puzzle and she could not sleep, should not sleep, afraid that she would lose sight of the pattern if she as so much blinks.

“Go ahead Brienne.” He was beginning to trust himself less around her, his thoughts teetering over the edge, loitering some spaces away from the carnal and the physical and he was not so sure he could keep his hands to himself if he joins her in the tent. And he was not sure she would have the strength and the resolve to stop him even if she wanted him to stop. He hoped she would not want him to stop. He almost cursed aloud at the impossibility of his thoughts.

Brienne stood up from her place near the fire and slipped inside the tent, “Jaime?”

“I’m going to keep watch wench.” He glanced over at her.

“Keep watch?”

“We are hedge knights. It is not safe in the woods at night.”

She frowned at him, disbelieving such words were coming from his mouth.

Jaime tried to convince himself that the tent does not look inviting at all. They were only able to rent one tent, it was meant to tease her and it was not camping season after all.

“Hedge knights? We have a tent and junk food Jaime.”

He did not tell her how that had sounded too much like an invitation to share her bed. He did not inform her either that her invitation had sent his blood boiling, coursing through him to settle into that part of his lower body wanting to get acquainted with her.  “We are modern hedge knights, cool hedge knights if you will,” he laughed, trying to convince her that he was turning down her invitation to bed because he was keen on playing this hedge knight thing and he was honourable besides, though that part of him was begging to be less honourable than needed. Maybe he should ask Brienne.

“Very well.” He heard the rustle of fabric and knew that she had settled in, leaving the flap slightly open. He almost let out a groan, disbelieving himself, disbelieving he had turn her offer down. But of course Brienne, the oblivious girl, would never make such an offer in the first place. She would have fled if she knew exactly where his thoughts about her are headed. _Or maybe she would welcome you_ , he groaned again, uncalled for thoughts invading his head.

He settled into a comfortable position beside the fire and looked up, straining his ears to listen to her breaths in the dark. It did not take long until the sound of her breathing became more even and her fidgeting less, he knew she had fallen asleep. He would ignore the tightening in his pants, would will it to go away. He would not know what to do if the girl would wake up in the middle of the night to find him jerking off with her name in his lips, so no he would not.

 

 

He almost jumped when Brienne’s hand curled around his shoulder some three hours after. Her hair was mussed, clothes wrinkled and eyes puffy but he knew he wanted her then, the throbbing in his pants beginning anew. He hoped the dark would hide the evidence of his arousal.

“You go to sleep Jaime. I’ll take watch.” She settled on the patch of grass beside him.

“But I’m not—”

“We are hedge knights. We take turns.”

He nodded then, tapped her shoulder. “Wake me up when the sun rises. I want to see it.”

“We are too old for this you know. If we were younger we wouldn’t need to sleep.”

_Yes, we wouldn’t, we’d be occupied with some other things_ , was what he wanted to say but kept his mouth shut on his way to the tent. They were too old and she was too wise and he was not but somehow he can force himself to do the right thing, or not act on the _right_ thing, because god, he knew it would feel so right. _She would feel so right._ There was still warmth from where she had lain and his body betrayed him by settling there, fitting his body where she had, taking in her scent, images in his mind of how she would have curled into herself had he joined her in the tent earlier. He would reach out a hand, trace a pattern on the freckles on her arm and she would flinch but he would continue nevertheless and he would spoon her in his arms. Her eyes would get that fierce look, a threat but he would only laugh and she would be mould against him, soft and pliant and hard and sturdy all at once because she is a different girl, a stubborn, oblivious, honourable giant of a woman and she would swipe him, clock him in the jaw but he would only smirk at her as his hands would slip insider her shirt and seek the warmth there. He would let his hands span the freckled skin there, skitter over expanse and expanse of white skin and pale breasts and he would coax her into her back while she fidgets, unsure but he would trace the hollow in her throat with his tongue and she would moan, little noises so unlike her rolling off her lips and into his and he would follow the puff of her breath and capture her mouth with his, tongue slipping in to taste her, sweep into her mouth, annoy her tongue and provoke it into coming out from hiding. He would taste her mouth again and again and she would be breathless and would come up for air. She would try to push him, because she is so damn shy and he is not and he would let her feel the evidence of his want against her thigh and his hands would slip into her pants and find her wet and wanting as much. He would touch her, fingers caressing the hot flesh there as his mouth would follow the descent of his fingers and taste her, and feel her buckle against his chin and mouth and he would lick and drink in her essence and existence and she would wind and wind tighter and tighter until she comes down from her high in a rupture that is both sweet as it is painful and he would catch her.  He would remove the rest of her clothing and she would do the same for him because she would want it to be equal, the tasks equitably distributed, and he would laugh at her reasoning and push her on her back and position himself between her legs. He would urge her to tangle her legs around his back and he would pull her legs wider, wider to accommodate him and she would curse at him, an impossibly long string of curses that would sound lewd and unusual on her mouth but he would only laugh again and kiss her soundly at her impatience—

“Jaime.”

 

 

Jaime’s eyes blinked wide open, afraid to move and turn. What if he were to find he had acted on his imaginings and Brienne was there inside the tent with him, ready and wanting? He slowly moved his head, arousal heavy and almost painful.

“The sun is rising. Hurry.” Brienne peered into the tent and cast him a worried look.

He breathed a yes and thanked the god she had removed herself from the entrance of the tent. How long had he slept? He looked at his watch and realized it had been two and a half hours. That long and he never even got to the really good part? Sunrises be damned but he was going back to bed and hopefully continue from where he had left off.

“Jaime. Quick!” her voice sounded equally annoyed and excited. With much reluctance he crawled out from the tent after willing his arousal away and followed her into the clearing. The sun was rising. It was almost breathtaking.

He glanced at her.

“Good morning Jaime. “ She was smiling, teeth crooked and horsey grins and face freckled all over. But the smile on her face is enough to make up for all the unsatisfied want.

“Good morning Brienne.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say this would be the last chapter set in Harrenhal but I think another chapter more is necessary. After the next one, it's back to the Riverlands.


	4. Space between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knew following him there would be like crossing the threshold, some sort of a liminal experience where she would be trapped in the then and there, unable to move forward because moving forward would force her to label what it was that urged her to follow him and there would be no turning back.

Catelyn responded the day after they sent her the report on the Bolton embezzlement charges, saying she would have an investigation conducted. The ball was on her court and it would be up to her to deal with the Freys. Some three Freys were directly incriminated by the evidences Jaime and Brienne gathered but they both suspect there are still more. “We hope my father is not involved in this,” she remembered Jaime telling her as they responded to Catelyn. They both knew how the enmity between the Lannisters and the Starks run deep, Brienne hoped it would not be something that would affect this relationship she had developed with Jaime for at the end of the day her loyalty is to Catelyn. And Catelyn is a Stark, no matter how much Brienne insists she works only for the Stark matriarch.

Some two weeks are left to them. They had more or less vacated the office space allotted to them, all other staff members clearly happy they would be leaving, except for Pia, Qyburn’s assistant who had began batting eyelashes at Jaime since the first day. Brienne had noticed and, though she does not really care who Jaime goes out with, the arrogant man had assured her there was nothing for her to worry about. “I am faithful,” he said to which she only frowned, she did not tell him she had wanted then to say she does not really care but a tiny part of her was happy he did care about what she thinks but a bigger part of her, that selfish ambitious part of her still hoping to find someone who would see past her tall stature and awkwardness died a little at that, understanding that he was someone else’s, not that she was hoping it would be him.

And perhaps Jaime also informed Pia of this, the girl had taken to Brienne instead. She was personable, easygoing and liked being directed. Brienne had put her to good use rummaging through stacks and stacks of papers at the basement. Surprisingly, she was happy enough with the task and told Brienne she wouldn’t mind working for her and Jaime in the future.

Jaime had taken to referring to their last two weeks as vacation, he had suggested they go to Duskendale, they can take a ferry and see the island of Dragonstone, spend two or a couple more nights. They should go swimming he said, he is feeling a little cooped up within the high walls of Harrenhal with land everywhere.

“The Rock has beaches,” he told her, the suggestion to go visit the Rock ripe in his mouth.

“Rocky beaches. Tarth has lovely waters,” Brienne responded, boxes and papers piled on the floor.

“Then Tarth it is!”

She narrowed his eyes at him, “No. We have some more cleaning up to do. Besides Catelyn might send us some further instructions.”

Jaime rolled his eyes at her, “That’s what emails are for.”

“Exactly. She might send an email when we’re out.”

“Then we read her email when we’re out. You can’t expect me to sit in front of my laptop and just wait for an email from her to pop up on my screen.” Jaime walked over to where she was filing papers. Placing another bunch of earmarked papers on top of the ones she had painstakingly categorized, he poked at her cheek, “I’m hoping to rub off some sense on you.”

Brienne swatted his hands, “I’m not susceptible.”

But she nevertheless found herself on a bus to Duskendale that evening.

 

 

Jaime had apparently made reservations with a hotel at Duskendale. He had only grinned at her when the hotel staff inadvertently informed them the reservations were made a week ago under the name of Jaime Lannister, one double room booked for three nights. She immediately requested for one more room, seeing as Jaime had intentionally done that to infuriate her but the hotel was fully booked and the blond smiling man beside her voiced his lack of intention to change hotels.

“Double room?” she had almost shouted then. “Three nights?”

“Why not?” He grabbed the information sheet and began filling out their details.

“Can you change that to a twin please.” Brienne turned to the registration staff who immediately began processing her request. It took some time however as the hotel was packed and Brienne was seriously considering checking herself into another hotel (provided there are available accommodations late in the evening). If not, she would have to suffer through Jaime’s teases and hope against hope that the double bed would be more than a standard double bed. Luckily for her, another couple who made the mistake of reserving for a twin room arrived asking for a double. She, forgetting all about her inhibitions towards meeting new people, immediately volunteered to swap with them.

Jaime’s grin was surprisingly absent from his face as they made their ascent up to the fifth floor.

“You still get to tease me you know.” She did not feel bad of course, self-preservation was the most important. Besides, she was still _there_ for Jaime to tease and make fun of, not that she liked it, but still, he doesn’t need to act as if he really would want them to _share a bed_.

“So you look forward to it?” eyes flicking up at her statement.

“I don’t. I prepare.” The elevator stopped with a _ping_ and the doors opened. She quickly scanned for the hallway for the odd-numbered rooms.

“You prepare.” She arched a brow at his tone, considering the words she had spoken in her head. She knew there was nothing incriminating with what she said, though she couldn’t tell with Jaime. He always has a way of twisting her words into something that would cause her to blush, frown and get angry. In that order.

“Shut up.”

He did, unexpectedly. Upon locating their room, he slid in the key card and opened the door wide for her. A grin was playing at the corners of his mouth and she felt the intense urge to throw her bag at him and render him unconscious. She wondered why she agreed to go with him in the first place when all her thoughts of him include some form of bodily harm. _And some other form of bodily contact as well._ She pulled at her own hair, now longer than how she usually kept it, the sharp pain bringing her back to focus on him, on the way he hogged the bed near the door, an unreadable expression on his face and she grimaced inwardly. This would be a lot harder than she thought.

“So what are the plans for tonight?” He stretched on the bed, lithe muscles and sinews made apparent under his shirt. Brienne looked away. It was not as if it was the first time she saw a man’s body (it could not even count as seeing), years in the university swimming team had exposed her well enough.

“Dinner.” The word was out of her mouth before she even thought of it.

“And hotel pool.” He stretched some more, shirt sliding up to reveal toned flesh underneath. “We won’t get to do much sightseeing tonight.”

“Dinner it is then.” She turned around, dropping her backpack on the bed left to her. She stripped off her jacket and hung it on a chair by the dressing table leaving her in a blue shirt that was a little tighter than her usual clothes. She stretched her legs, the bus providing no leg room and straightened some wrinkles on the back of the knees of her fit jeans. She caught Jaime’s eyes staring at her and she scowled, grabbed her purse and briefly knocked him on his feet dangling off the edge of the bed. He finally laughed but followed her out, the plastic key tucked in his jeans’ pocket.

 

 

They had dinner at an unremarkable kebab place. It was the only place that could seat them, all others were filled to the brim with people. It did not matter though, she was so hungry she could anything and anything would taste good. Jaime did not care either as he seemed to be savouring his meal with relish. They did not speak during the meal, each engrossed too much with food, the bus ride had proven to be too long and by the time they found the only available place to eat they were both too famished to speak. “I have never been that hungry.” It was Jaime who broke the silence when he was done eating, wiping his mouth with a napkin. She responded with a nod and polished off the remaining food on her plate.  When they have cleared the plates and paid (Jamie insisted he would pay but she forced him to go Dutch), he suggested they take a walk. Jaime pointed out to her some of the structures they passed, then they lazed a bit near the port and watched for a time some of the boats leaving and docking.

“I have been here so many times I can’t remember exactly how many.” Jaime began, walking ahead of her, seemingly to look for something.

“I have not been here.”

He stopped at an intersection and beckoned her to walk faster. “You have not been to many places.”

She shrugged. She followed him and watched as he stopped in front of a closed store. It was a big structure, jutting out of the horizon like some enlarged chess piece. The wooden doors looked heavy adorned with two iron rings.

“Found it.”

She did not take her eyes away from the building, took a step and touched her hand against the cool wooden surface of the door. It felt solid under her touch. “What is it?”

“It’s a toyshop,” he was grinning. “Tyrion loved this place.” He rarely speaks of his family, but Tyrion, his brother, is that one exception, and when he does, he does so fondly. His eyes would light up in a way that would cause her heart to flutter into her throat, an image of a young Jaime playing with his brother flitting in her eyes. She knew he would laugh at her if she told him of it; even she would laugh at herself if she as much voiced it out.

“Really? We should see it when it’s open.”

“We should. I can buy you a wooden sword. Some men will kidnap you and throw you into a bear pit and you will fight the bear with the wooden sword. Of course you would not be able to kill it, it’s a wooden sword after all and the bear is big, much bigger than you, and that is saying a lot. So I will come and jump into the bear pit and rescue you.” He teased, face straight and tone deadpan. “Then you would have to give me a kiss as a reward.”

“You are dead Lannister.” She rolled her eyes. And he burst out laughing, hands clutched to his stomach. “Come on.” She turned on her heels, scowling, walking towards the direction of the hotel. “Keep that up and I promise you’ll be a head shorter by the end of the day.”

 

 

The pool was surprisingly empty for a packed hotel. Jaime insisted they take a dip, it was still early he said (early being some two in the morning which is in actuality is early by all rights) and Brienne had to admit her sleepiness got lost in their banter.

A year had been too long yet too short to get to know Jaime yet she knew he was the closest male she had ever known (with the exception of her father) and surprisingly had become relatively comfortable around him despite his continuous jests. He was the closest male person she had ever allowed into her personal space, though it is probable it was not simply a matter of her giving him permission into her space, he had a way of pushing past barriers. Not that she was unhappy about it, but she knew she had rendered herself vulnerable at her own admittance of Jaime being that _close_ to her, she knew she was opening herself to more wounds and more stupid decisions. She had gone through the same thing before but at least then she could blame everything on her youth and her naiveté, on her belief that the world is round and each person has innate goodness in their hearts. She was proven wrong and she had closed herself off since then. But Jaime seemed different, is different, a fragile hope blossoming in her— fragile as it was it was still hope and it had blossomed. Though of course she was more practical now, she knew more or less where she stands and she stands not on the same ground as him. She quickly attached herself to a corner of the pool wearing a relatively conservative swimming attire which sent him arching a brow at her.

“Now you must race with me to the other side wench,” he said, water trickling from his hair to his chest, golden and lithe in the semi-darkness.

“What?”

“You’re not wearing a bikini.” He pushed back hair falling into his eyes. “So you have to make up for it.”

She shot him an incredulous look, his mouth was such a well of stupid words and ideas. She splashed him some water, “You don’t know what you’re asking for Lannister.”

“I know. I’m asking for a bikini.”

“Shut up.”

His eyes were alit in the low light, smiling and dancing with some mischievous promise. She eased away from him, afraid of the sudden warmth swimming in her belly.  “Come on wench.”

“Jaime.”

“Come on.” And he tugged at her arm and pushed her to the middle of one corner of the pool. He began a count and before finishing to three he turned to her. “If I win what will I get?”

She shrugged, body tensed at his sudden movement.

“I’ll give you something if you do.”

Brienne turned to look at the finish line. “Alright. If you win we’ll go to Tarth.” She saw the beginnings of a grin from the corner of her eye so she quickly added, “But you definitely won’t so we won’t.”

“Really?” a cheeky grin on his face before he shouted the end of his count and dove into the water.

 

 

He was insisting he won when she was insisting she did. He would collect on his winnings soon he said but Brienne only stomped to gather her towel from the benches and dry herself. She sat on the edge of the pool, feet dangling into the water, towel around her shoulders. “It’s almost three AM Jaime.”

He did not reply, but continued doing laps in the water. Reaching her side of the pool, he hoisted himself up to sit beside her. “I’m arranging for us to go to the capital after Harrenhal.”

They had this conversation once before. Though she remembered Jaime walking out on her, she knew it would be wiser not to assume he walked out because she would not go with him to the capital. That would be too presumptuous on her part. He did say he was a one-woman man, and as far she knew, even if she was thinking that taking this farther, whatever this is, into something more than this, would be too much of a welcome thing for her, it would not be possible since he was already smitten with someone else (though even if he was not, there was no possibility at all of him being attracted to her, given how little she was gifted in the looks department). Though he had not told her about his lady, nor had she asked. “I’m going to the Vale.”

“The Vale?” His tone suddenly heavy. “Catelyn told you?”

“I requested to go to the Vale.”

He got up, eyes locking with hers. “You requested? It means you could make a request? But you did not request to be sent to King’s Landing with me?”

She frowned. “Why would I request that?”

He had opened his mouth to speak but pursed it instead, words lost somewhere in his sudden anger and he walked to the edge of the corner where they were at.

She suddenly felt too tired. “Catelyn approved, she just sent me a notice last week.”

He didn’t look at her.

Brienne wondered why this would matter to him, didn’t he say she was too ugly? Too tall? Too slow? Besides, there were things, things that were beginning to sprout in her insides and she was afraid those things would take over her and she would lose herself in them, and admit something as silly as liking him. Him. Him of all people, unattainable him with his golden hair and easy smiles.

“Were you even planning on telling me?”

She swallowed. “Of course.”

“Of course my arse.”

“I could visit,” she proffered. “Or you could,” voice almost lost in a sudden rise of insecurity. Perhaps he had too much fun making fun of her, that, that would be the most rational reason why he was suddenly acting irrationally.

He jumped into the water, the force sending splashes of water to her side of the pool.

“Sansa Stark is doing internship at the Vale,” she offered as some sort of an explanation, hoping he would hear it as he swam towards the other side, “We are friends and when Catelyn said the Vale was among the choices, I did not hesitate.” In truth she had, Catelyn told her she could either spend the following year back at the Riverlands to work on the Blackfish account, or at the Vale for Lysa Arryn, Catelyn’s sister, or down in Dorne for the Martells. The older woman lastly said she could go to the capital if she wanted to, though Catelyn did give her some advice which might be insinuating something about how she is acting, or feeling, towards Jaime, feelings which would get her in trouble. She had mulled it over last week—Dorne is out of the question, she had been there twice and the desert sun was not for her; Riverlands is easily crossed out as well, she would like to go somewhere else, she had been staying there for the best part of her life besides. That left her with a choice between the Vale and King’s Landing. And she knew Jaime would be at the capital and she knew following him there would be like crossing the threshold, some sort of a liminal experience where she would be trapped in the then and there, unable to move forward because moving forward would force her to label what it was that urged her to follow him and there would be no turning back.

“And what are we?” He settled on the other side of the pool.

She wanted to throw the question back at him but she didn’t because she knew what he would say. The word friends was out of her mouth soon enough and she thought he hadn’t heard until he laughed, dry and hard and she asked, “Aren’t we friends?”

His mouth hardened into a thin line. “If you say so wench.” Then he was out of the pool in an instant, slipped into a robe and pushed himself into the elevator that would take him back to their room.

 

 

Brienne had slipped back into their shared room sometime after four. He was already in his bed, asleep, back turned towards her and she slipped into her own bed. She had used the shower by the pool to wash up, not wanting to share the bathroom with an awake and irritable Jaime. Perhaps she had said something, or had not said something, but she clearly irritated him, enough to drive him away again. Does he expect her to expect something of him? If he does, to what extent? She feared she would expect too much, too much that he probably wouldn’t be able to provide. _You, you, yourself alone_. And she is too different from him besides and she has no other experience comparable to this one so she mouthed the first, _safest_ , word that came to mind when he asked what they were. _Friends_.

“I’m sorry.” The words startled her and she sat up, his voice too soft and she feared she might have merely imagined it.

“Jaime?”

She heard the rustle of fabric and knew he had sat up too. When her eyes adjusted to the light she could make out his form, hunched and looking at her. “You heard me. I’m not saying it again.”

“Oh.”

He moved back to settle on his bed, eyes trained at the ceiling. “We are friends of course.”

The rush of air from her mouth almost did not prevent the prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes. She mimicked him and found her way back on the bed, a tight constricting feeling in her chest at his confirmation of their relationship, of the confirmation that it was that and nothing more. Maybe she had hoped a bit, but she was _just this_ and nothing more and he was in love with someone else and she had been too stupid to even let the idea of _together_ cross her mind. Wasn’t she the one who labelled them as friends? “We are.”

“We are.” He echoed.

“Good night then Jaime.”

“Its morning now wench.”

She turned her face to the wall, eyes swimming despite her continuous reprimanding of herself to stop being such a _girl_ for she was not, she was never, hadn’t she learned her lesson yet? Years of taunting and japes to her physicality had made her hard hadn’t it? Yet the tears were there, threatening to spill and make a fool of herself, heart in her mouth and years of hardwork on the brink. She swallowed.

“Brienne?”

“What?” her words seemed garbled to her ear and she swiped angrily at the loose tears that rolled off her cheeks to splatter against the fabric of her pillow. She knew what this was, she had cried for herself then, loathing her inability to see through japes and taunting and believed that someone could see through past skin and bones to discover her, _her,_ and this was _heartache_ all over again, yet what was different was that this time she was crying for what could be. _Together._

“Brienne.” She had felt him first before she had heard him and his warmth seeped slowly into her as he slipped in beside her, an ocean of distance between them yet the warmth was there and he was there and she tensed and urged her body to fight the want, _the need_ , to scoot closer.

“What are you doing?” she said through gritted teeth.

“Didn’t you say we are friends?”

She considered his words in her head and turned slowly, to face the ceiling just as he was doing and she closed her eyes and felt and heard his breathing in the dark. She could trace his outline in the dark, every part of him, his warmth was enough to let her know he was there, she need not touch him. How ironic, she grimaced inwardly, how his nearness emphasized his distance from her. Yet she accepted, they were friends after all.

“Sleep.” He moved then to press every inch of him to her and she felt her lashes fluttered briefly at the beginning of the contact, squeezed shut again as she felt him bury his face into the crook of her neck. “I’m sorry.”

_Friends._ She felt herself nod and willed herself to sleep. She would forget this. Soon she would.

Sleep generously came and for that she was grateful.

 

 

He was not in the room when she woke up. It was almost midday and she quickly washed up, dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and shirt and took the flight of stairs for the elevator was taking _damn_ too long and she was worried that he had left. But he was by the buffet table, a plate in his hands, tongs taking some meats onto his plate when he met her eyes and he waved with the tongs.

She nodded at him, followed his line of sight as he gestured to where he was seated.

“Good afternoon wench.” He sat down, putting the plate filled with food in front of her.

She looked at the food. “This is a lot.”

“You’re a big girl.” He laughed, and she was relieved. There were no traces of what had transpired last night, so much that she felt she imagined it all, his voice, his arms, his scent, his warmth. The heavy tugging at her heart was the only reminder that she did come to the conclusion that they were friends, that he came at the same conclusion and she was glad she did not pursue anything else, because if she had she might have not found him at all today. He might have packed his bags and gone back to the capital.

“I’ll get my own plate.”

“I have my own plate. That one’s yours.”

She only scowled at him but nevertheless began to eat. “You should have woken me up.”

“You were snoring wench. How could I wake you up when you look like you are going to club me to death if I as much as poke you in the face?”

Brienne rolled her eyes at him. “Anyone would club you to death if you as much as poke them in the face.”

He smirked, a slow smirk that forced a shiver to skitter wildly in her belly. “Especially you.”

“Especially me.”

“What do you suggest we do today?” he tossed greens into his mouth and chewed slowly, eyes trained at her.

She frowned at the expressions he was making, at the way he appeared to be deliberately urging her to look at him and she averted her eyes and focused on the food which seemed to lost flavour in her tongue. _What about in his tongue?_ The thoughts came unbidden and she found herself staring at the way he ran his pink tongue on his bottom lip.

“Staring is rude.”

Brienne looked up and found Jaime’s green eyes trained at her. “What?”

“You were staring. Want a taste?” She almost purred a yes, crawling back to the space between her resolve and her desires. She knew of course he was toying with her, like what he usually does, those were only words but sometimes words are enough to make her believe, and hope, and hope that there were things beyond words. But there weren’t, for words are only words. And his words are banters.

“Shut up Jaime.” His answer was to laugh at her reaction.

 

 

They spent the entire day looking around the port area, they had climbed up some boats and bought some live catch and had the hotel cook them into something. When it was dark they took a cruise along the harbour and had dinner. There was music and dancing but Brienne declined when Jaime asked her to dance saying the best she could do was spare one of his feet. He laughed then but settled beside her. Some woman asked him to dance but he unsurprisingly declined with a gesture towards Brienne to which she only scoffed.

The following day they took a ferry to Dragonstone and wondered about the hidden caves. Jaime took photos and asked her to pose for one but she did not, she told him she knew he would only use it scare thieves or animals, or ghosts from his apartment but he nevertheless shot a photo of her, which she didn’t know. She only knew of it when he asked her to ring him up in the pretence that he could not find his phone. Her photo looking out into the ocean was what greeted her when she heard it ringing and found it in her bag. He dared her to delete it but she did not because it was the first photo where she thought she actually looked alright, not to mention the slight quiver in his voice when he dared her.

But he did not share her sleeping space again. And before she knew it they were back in Harrenhal and some days after they were on the train back to the Riverlands.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Riverlands. Kudos and comments are love.


	5. Un-labelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She does deserve a better option of course, something more solid like a real relationship, a real relationship where everything is exact and labelled, like a relationship between lovers who proclaim themselves as lovers and take on the roles as lovers, but if she does not agree with his would-be-suggested arrangements in the betwixt-and-between, he would tell her they could still be friends (if she really wants to label it), for whatever its worth, but it’s imperative that she goes to the capital with him and not leave his side until he is sure what this is and until he could do something about it.

Jaime did want to offer Brienne a ride home but she seemed to suddenly found discomfort in his presence, fidgeting and not speaking for a very long while only to break the silence with a stammer, or if she was somehow successful, some two-choice words: shut up. If it was any other girl he would have labelled it limirence and on Brienne it would have been welcomed, but Brienne was unlike most girls so he knew it was something else, besides she doesn’t look at him _that_ way. Hadn’t she informed him of it already?

He found himself alone in his apartment back at the Riverlands. He was hungry but he doesn’t feel like going out, if he does go out he would be alone besides, Brienne was not there _damn it_ and he had spent an entire year with her only for her to drop him like a hot potato at the first chance she got. Or maybe it was something else entirely, he does not look like a potato in the first place, perhaps there was something bothering the tall girl but there was not much time left for him to coax it out of her, she was leaving for the Vale after tomorrow and him back to King’s Landing, he could try and persuade her to follow him instead, but he had tried that and that didn’t go too _well_. Besides, there were too many things, too many things he wanted to say and though he has mastery of words he could not lay everything out in letters; he is too _occupied_ for this, whatever this is, but he couldn’t let it simply go. And his only response was to get mad at her.

So he would sleep. Then he would see her tomorrow. Take her out to dinner or something as farewell. Then they would talk, about chances and possibilities perhaps.

 

 

Jaime was early the following day. He talked with some other early birds: Brynden and Edmure Tully were there and they discussed some corporate issues; Podrick, the intern who had attached himself to Brienne asked him about the girl to which he launched into a semi-detailed (and flamboyant) story of how a dog ran after her one time on the way home, and that time when she threatened to castrate Locke, Bolton’s staff, to give them access to some confidential files. Brienne came in then, quickly interjecting with corrections on Jaime’s version of the threat story. She didn’t threaten she said, “I requested”, and then she smiled at the intern. Jaime almost felt a little stab of annoyance at the way she treat with the boy, so unlike how she does with him that he almost let out a vicious retort but he managed to keep it in. He was trying to get on with her good graces besides.

It was then that Catelyn arrived and requested the two of them in her office.

“Good job.”

He respected the woman and has conviction in most of her decisions though of course he does not completely trust her. She is a Stark and he is a Lannister and blood is thicker than water but he was grateful she had offered him the chance to work again regardless of his reputation, to put to use the things he knew and learned. He knew then, when he received her job offer, that it was his last chance at proving himself, at proving he was not simply his father’s son.

He glanced at Brienne and noted the delighted way she was looking at Catelyn. The older woman had influenced much of her he knew and though he was glad Brienne had taken to Catelyn’s idea of honor, he was a little unpleased with how much the older woman’s sense of duty and lack of humor rubbed off on Brienne. That, he would have to teach her.

After some clarifications and confirmation of some important issues about the Bolton charges, Catelyn confirmed Brienne’s deployment to the Vale and his return to the capital. He had almost voiced out his opinion then but Brienne’s hand had found its way to his lower arm and he had stilled and the next thing he knew the Stark matriarch was dismissing them, saying some guests would be arriving that afternoon and could they join them for a meeting at the conference room? Brienne nodded and he did too, not really realizing what he was committing himself to and soon they were shuffling out the office and into the hallway.

He realized then he had let a very important moment slip. “You were distracting me.”

She raised a brow. “I don’t know what you were talking about.” She made a beeline for her office at the other end of the floor and when he made a move to follow her she expressed how her desk is overflowing with papers, the need to clean up before she leaves tomorrow a very urgent one and how she would be pleased if someone, _someone_ , would be so kind as to let her have some much needed time to work on all of that.

Jaime relented with much reluctance.

 

 

Organizing and responding to queries took most of his morning and before he knew it, it was already past lunch time. He quickly stood up from his swivel, past Addam Marbrand on his desk and went for the wench’s office. He passed by Podrick who made to get up to announce his arrival but he waved a hand and went straight for Brienne’s door. He knocked once which quickly got her attention. He noticed the flurry of expressions which immediately crossed her face upon seeing him and he invited himself in.

“Lunch.” He sat himself on the couch.

“Is it now?” She made no move to get up however so he crossed the distance between them and stood beside her table. He began flipping through the stacks of papers.

“Your staff is famished.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Alright.”

Jaime good-naturedly looped an arm around hers as soon as she got her purse. She tried to squirm free but he held on tight and she responded by hitting his arm. He grimaced at the pain, the wench does throw heavy punches but he held on and soon he was accosting her outside the door, Podrick quickly standing up to watch them with worry. They caught the attention of her other staff; Josmyn Peckledon had stood up as well as some other people he wasn’t familiar with. He noticed the blush on Brienne’s face intensify when he laughed when she tried to free herself again from his hold.

“Pod, Peck, come with us.” She almost shouted when they passed Pod and the boys quickly scrambled to their feet. Jaime gave the boys a threatening look but it probably looked tamer compared to Brienne’s that the boys ignored him and hurried to catch up with them as they reached the elevator.

“You need not invite them.” He whispered, so close and closer still he could catch her earlobe in his teeth. It looked tantalizingly pretty, pink and fuming, a stark contrast against her pale blond hair and still paler skin, that he felt the need to move closer, her arm securely trapped against his and his mouth ready to taste the flesh within reach.

“Jaime.” Her voice was breathy and he glanced at the two boys who had turned their heads away from them, eyes focused on the changing number of floors while they stood at the back, pressed tight against each other. He was glad the elevator wasn’t covered in mirror walls.

“Tell them to leave.”

“Shut up.” But he had noticed how she had softened against his hold and his hand slipped down to touch her hand and slowly he entwined each finger around each of hers, warm and tingly, and he squeezed. She went rigid immediately after and he was reminded of that night in Duskendale when he slipped into her bed and held her, he was so angry then, so angry that she would choose someone over him (since it all boils down to that, the Stark girl or him) that he had asked what they were. He knew of course that she would answer with what she had, but surprisingly, something in him had begged to hear something more, though as to what that _more_ was he doesn’t know. He knew he was not ready for something as serious as Brienne deserves but he was not ready to let her go either, if she had offered to stay in the liminal he knew he would have agreed with her, exploring and bickering and touching, _touching yes oh yes_ , but he was the one who forced her to label this, in a compulsive attempt to make her choose between her friend and him (him who turned out to be _just_ another friend) but the moment he realized he was forcing her to acknowledge the space between he was in effect forcing her, and himself as well, to move past the space between and on forward, into the safe territory and easily navigable terrain of friendship . And he didn’t like the turnout one bit.

It was the boys’ curious stares at their entwined hands that told him they had reached the ground floor and the elevator doors were wide open for everyone to see how curled around he was about her and how rigid and red she had become. He only grinned and pulled her along, hands not leaving her as they made their way to the cafeteria.

She didn’t speak much, which was not unusual but still different from when they were in Harrenhal. They had taken lunches (and every other meal) together and he had bantered and she had responded, sometimes with a well thought of and equally witty jest, and he had laughed, smuggled food from her plate to his and she had gotten angry and hit him, after which he had laughed some more. But now, she seemed more introspective as if she was taking herself captive, almost indifferent, she was much more silent now than yesterday and he ran his words in his head and thought of whether he had said something which she might not have liked (and she doesn’t like most of the things coming from his mouth anyway).

She had pried her hands away as soon as they reached the entrance to the cafeteria, Stark employees all around them and she whispered something about duty and honor (Tully words, he thought of whispering back) and watched as she manoeuvred to find a table for the four of them. He could have taken her out instead but the boys were there and she insisted they go eat at the cafeteria so he relented, he had been relenting to too much of her whims lately he noticed.

Jaime hadn’t even noticed himself beginning to eat, he was thinking of some way to snoop her from the two boys, whom she had instructed to sit on either side of her, that he hadn’t noticed she was already done, bussing her own plates and moving to vacate her seat. Pod and Peck followed.

He vowed to get another chance tonight.

 

 

By five in the afternoon Catelyn emailed to inform him of the arrival of their guests. Brienne was already at his door by the time he read the older woman’s email and she knocked softly. Jaime knew he would get her in trouble if they would be late by as much as five minutes but he pretended not to hear. She knocked again and when he pretended to bury himself in his laptop he heard the creak of the glass door and her soft footsteps.

“Jaime. Catelyn said it’s now.”

He looked up feigning surprise and grinned. “What is now?”

“The meeting.”

“Ah.” He made no move to get up however and he saw from the corner of his eyes the wrinkling of her face into something akin to annoyance and he chuckled inwardly.

“Jaime come on.”

He glanced at her. “Where?”

“The meeting.” She had emphasized every syllable and Jaime knew she was getting angry.

At least she was showing some expression, anger was better than nothing, anger he could take, he would have an angry Brienne any day than an indifferent one. He stood up then and smiled at her, eyes examining every aspect of her, the blue blue ocean in her eyes, the freckles, the wide mouth, the ungainliness and he knew he would try again and ask Catelyn, if Catelyn commands it, he knew Brienne would have no choice but to follow and as for his part, he would make it worth all her while. He could suggest they un-label _this_ , and move to the capital, settle into an arrangement that is new, untested and uncharted for both of them, of course it would be infuriating at first—he could imagine them fighting about every single thing—but it would be better; his life would change he knew and he was excited at the prospect. She does deserve a better option of course, something more solid like a real relationship, a real relationship where everything is exact and labelled, like a relationship between lovers who proclaim themselves as lovers and take on the roles as lovers, both affirming what they are to each other but if she does not agree with his would-be-suggested arrangements in the betwixt-and-between, he would tell her they could still be friends (if she really wants to label it), for whatever its worth, but it’s imperative that she goes to the capital with him and not leave his side until he is sure what this is and until he could do something about it.

They reached the conference room without anyone speaking and he had the intense urge to hold her hand and speak to her then but the double doors to the room opened and he lost the chance.

“Jaime, Brienne, come on in.”

He did notice the immediate flush in Brienne’s face upon stepping in and when he followed her line of sight Renly Baratheon was there sitting on one of the plush chairs. He felt an unwanted feeling bubble in the pit of his stomach.

“Brienne!” Renly walked over to her, pulled her into a hug, their heights rendering the hug awkward but the dark haired man did not seem to mind, and clapped her on the back. “I haven’t seen you in a long while.”

“Renly.” Jaime felt himself gag at the breathiness in her tone and he almost rolled his eyes were it not for Renly’s sudden attention on him.

“Jaime Lannister. I have heard so much about you.”

Jaime knew it was not meant to mean something, just random words that you say to someone whose name you have heard somewhere but the bile was in his throat and he said, “And you too. I have heard a lot about you Renly Baratheon.”

Brienne nudged him but he thought he did not care, but he did and it only produced more bile in his throat because Brienne was blushing at the gay kid and Jaime wanted to hit something, anything because Brienne was blushing at the gay kid! He forced himself to take a deep breath.

The double doors swung wide open again and he saw the look of recognition from Brienne. From the looks of the new guests, they were the Tyrell siblings. _Ah, Loras Tyrell_ , he almost congratulated himself for knowing that fact about Renly and the Tyrell boy, but when he looked at Brienne the smug expression on his face disappeared and he narrowed his eyes at her and forced her to look at him and away from the Baratheon and stop _bloody_ blushing and look at him instead. She met his eyes briefly and he pulled her hand to his, quickly giving it a squeeze just before Catelyn made a formal introduction of the new guests.

“Brienne, I assume you know our guests. Jaime, these are Loras and Margaery Tyrell. And here is Renly Baratheon. Brienne worked for him for some time.” Catelyn urged them to take their seats, Jaime quickly putting himself beside Brienne though he had not counted on Renly’s choosing to sit beside her as well. Margaery sat across from him, a curious look in her eyes, a smile on her lips and Jaime thought that he does not trust the Tyrell girl one bit. Loras sat across from Brienne while Catelyn positioned herself across Renly, not wanting to take the seat at the head of the table, demonstrating how she could play corporate power play well.

“This is a rather surprise visit,” Loras held Renly’s eye a little longer than what Jaime deemed was appropriate given the circumstances and he hoped the wench saw it so she would stop blushing at her dear gay Renly.

Catelyn explained to them the possibility of a new venture with Highgarden and Renly Baratheon. The youngest of three brothers, Renly had separated early on from the other Baratheons and had begun building his own company. He had enlisted the aid of the Tyrells, a family-based corporation from the Reach region. Renly had mentioned the possibility of asking Brienne’s help with one of the ventures they are planning, saying how Brienne had proven herself again and again when she was still working for him. He mentioned it was in broadcasting and Jaime immediately scoffed.

“Brienne is good. But put her in broadcasting and she’ll wither.” Jaime spat.

Brienne did not look at him.

“She’s comfortable here. And she works best when she knows the terrain.” He added, eyes glaring at no one in particular. He caught the eyes of the Tyrell girl and frowned at the glint in her eyes. He looked away, anger clouding his vision and his ears.

“And she would stick out like a sore thumb if you put her in broadcasting, you wouldn’t want the limelight on her I’m telling you.” Catelyn looked at him sternly, forcing his mouth shut.

Renly cleared her throat and continued with other matters of business; Brienne’s face had turned away from Jaime, clearly focused on the dark-haired man. He felt angry, so angry and he felt the need to reach out to touch her hand again but he clenched his fists instead. Why would she act so much like a girl in front of the Baratheon kid when she never as much as bat an eyelash at him like a limirent girl? And now she was ignoring him like there was no Harrenhal, like they have not lived with each other for the past year, like they have not gone camping or shared work, shared food, shared _beds_. He unclenched his fists, the words a blur in the background and he felt so mad, so annoyed at her, at everyone, at himself for being annoyed because Brienne was acting that way towards another man, _a gay man_ , and not towards him.

“We can talk more about it later at dinner. What do you think? Besides, we haven’t seen you in a while Brienne and you can tell us stories.” Margaery engaged Brienne across from the table.

“Would you join us Mr. Lannister?” Renly asked.

Jaime shook his head, anger rendering him deaf.

“Very well then, see you at dinner.” Catelyn’s voice reverberated in his head and he realized that he had just declined a dinner invitation but the wench did not. He remembered planning to invite Brienne to dinner as an invitation of some sort to new arrangements, as a discussion of possibilities, as a farewell, since they would be leaving for different places tomorrow but when he looked at her she only ignored him. He tried to catch her hand but she was out of the room in an instant along with the rest of them and the Tyrell girl was tapping at his shoulder.

“What?”

The girl smiled, ringlets curling around her face, smiling and looking like she knows everything there is to know. “You don’t have to be rough on her.”

“What?”

“Renly is clearly taken. If you want her to look only at you, you need to be gentle with her. She may look tough but she is still a lady. Treat her like one.” She smiled again and slowly walked through the double doors.

 

 

Jaime lay on his bed awake, the dinner had ended hours ago he was certain. It was almost midnight and he knew, based on the past year, Brienne is still most probably awake. He could dial her number and call her, apologize and tell her he could drive her to the airport tomorrow no matter how early her flight is, or no matter how late, or no matter how inconvenient the time would be, he would suggest them to get a breakfast on the way, or lunch or something, whatever fits just so he could talk to her. But he shouldn’t, should he? She was the one blushing and acting like a lovesick girl earlier, if there’s anyone who should be calling and apologizing and offering to drive to the airport it would have to be her.

Perhaps his thoughts were muddled. Brienne was the _only_ woman he had spent a long time with outside of his family and he was confusing certain feelings. He had been without a woman for a very long time and with such longing it was easy to confuse desire for certain feelings, it was only an itch that needed to be scratched. Nothing more. So he would not call her, he would not apologize, he would not discuss with her his thought process, the possibilities of un-crossing the threshold, staying where they are and enjoying this sense of newness, freedom if you will, unconventional arrangements that are un-boxed as it is un-labelled.

He would not. She would leave tomorrow and he would too and he would go back to what everything was before he met that stubborn, bloody honourable, giant of a woman with eyes like the sky in a clear bright morning. She could giggle and blush at Renly for all he cares. _Damn it_.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fast update isn't it? We get Brienne's POV next at the Vale. Kudos and comments are love.


	6. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was colder in the Vale but Brienne does not mind, she slept well, ate well, work well. Everything is well. Or at least everything seemed well.

Some mornings Brienne would imagine she was back in Harrenhal. She would tiptoe to the kitchen, start the stove if it was early, scramble some eggs and toast some bread. She then would brew some coffee and would flip through the morning newspaper as she waited. She would throw open the curtains while she sips her coffee (black, she wants it heavy), turn the telly on and listen to the telltale signs of Jaime stirring from his sleep. She would wait as she hears him pad down the stairs, his door closing behind him with a soft thud. She would put the toasts on a plate along with the eggs and watch from the brim of her coffee cup how he would seat himself on the kitchen stool. “Good morning wench,” was what he would say and she would pour him a cup of coffee and he would dump cream and sugar in it like he was not afraid of getting diabetes and he would sip and get his tongue burnt. He would swear and then announce how awake that made him then he would grab at the breakfast she prepared and bring the plate to the living room where he would slump on the couch and agitate the remote control. He would call out to her and she would join him, spaces between them on the couch and they would watch in silence, his comments peppering the silence every now and then and she would laugh at some and would grimace at most. Sometimes she would punch him when his comments become too absurd and he would only laugh and ask to taste her coffee. She would let him and he would give her his coffee cup for her to have a taste too and she would stick her tongue out at the horrible, horrible sweetness of his morning drink and he would mimic her reaction at the bitterness of hers. He would finish off his breakfast and if morning duty is his he would wash the dishes. If not, he would tell her to do it and promise her he would wake up earlier the following day to make breakfast but she knows he would not, he always gets up later than her because he sleeps later than she does—he would be always reading the papers, or doing some late-night work until the wee hours of the morning, or checking door locks—so she would think of what to prepare for tomorrow’s breakfast and would have a mental list of what to buy at the mini mart near their place in the evening.

But most mornings she would try to forget because she knew Jaime had already forgotten, he was back in King’s Landing and back with his _someone else_ anyway, and she would try, try _so hard_ to forget that she would fail to remember all about morning routine and would come to work not having eaten anything, rumpled and grumpy.

 

 

Sansa Stark invited herself to Brienne’s apartment that night. The redhead took the sofa bed and stretched out while Brienne sat across from her, book in her lap and laptop open and blinking on the table top.

“This is a nice place.”

“It is.” Brienne looked at her knowing she wanted to talk about something though the eldest Stark girl seemed to be having a hard time putting her thoughts into words. “What is it Sansa?”

“You know Brie,” she said, peering cautiously at the taller girl, hands fidgeting with the hem of her cream dress.

Brienne furrowed her brow. She had met Sansa Stark back at the Riverlands some three years ago. She herself was not much older than Catelyn’s daughter and they had gotten on quite well after their first meeting. Last year Sansa moved to the Vale to do internship with the Arryns, who were related to the Starks by marriage through the female line. She was currently living with her aunt Lysa Arryn. “What is it Sansa? Is anything bothering you?”

She seemed to consider her words carefully. “The thing is,” she met her eyes, “I know you’re sad.”

That took her aback. She thought it was about the redhead girl, knowing she was not meeting her mother eye to eye and Brienne had thought she wanted to sleep over because she wanted to discuss her issues with her mom. Besides, she is not sad, is she?

“Whatever it is,” Sansa crossed the distance to sit beside her, “I am here for you. We can talk about it.”

“I really don’t have—”

“Is this about a guy?”

Brienne averted her eyes knowing a blush was blooming on her cheeks. “No. And there is no problem Sansa.”

She was smiling. “You can tell me.”

“There is nothing to tell.” She had almost frowned. Of course there is nothing to tell, is there? Especially since the supposed topic of their conversation, whatever kind of conversation it was supposed to be, would probably laugh if he knew they were going to talk about him in that way. Jaime is a friend and nothing more, they had both made it perfectly clear to each other and though her heart did do a somersault at the sudden mention of the possibility of his existence related to hers in that manner even if it was not in direct reference to him (she was the only guy _in her life_ right now, by all intents and purposes, thank you very much), she knew she does not want any of this conversation right now.

“Jaime Lannister?”

Her turn was so sharp she wondered how she had not broken her neck in that moment. She knew her face was flushed and her eyes wide and all signs a giveaway, but she would vehemently deny because Jaime Lannister is merely a name, a name associated with someone she had worked with and nothing more.

“I called you last time at the office, Mom said you were in Harrenhal with Jaime Lannister.”

“He is a colleague.”

“I know. You worked with him. But maybe he isn’t _just_ a colleague.”

She sighed, a sign that could either lift her from this or incriminate her further.

“You’re not usually like this. You are not the talkative type yes but I can tell if something’s bothering you.”

Brienne opened her mouth to speak. How is she like then? Her daily everyday self, how is it? Had there been changes about her? Does that mean Jaime had irreversibly changed her into something, someone resembling her but not really her? Perhaps she had changed, perhaps she had a little, perhaps it is showing through, how she would add some cream in her coffee in the morning, how she would try to eat her olives, or try to look at camping equipments, or how she would eat toasted marshmallows and how she would curse when she burns her tongue, how she would try to remember _every day_ in Harrenhal, how she would try to remember him, how she would miss him. Perhaps, perhaps all those little things had compounded into something that is changing her nebulous self, her own construction of her self, her own self-concept, changing her into someone who wants to call him and talk and just talk and apologize for how they parted at the Riverlands, tell him how she would have wanted to have at least a farewell dinner or something, make arrangements for visits and calls while she stays at the Vale and he at King’s Landing, know that they are _friends_ even though they are miles apart and know that they will see each other again soon. Had she been changed then? She was no tabula rasa of course and Jaime could not have easily changed her, perhaps it was her recognition of his sudden presence in her life that made her susceptible.

“Do you like him?”

Brienne knew she should refuse to say anything, in the first place Sansa’s simple words are not enough to convey the enormity and weight of her feelings, and most importantly, saying anything about how she feels for him, would render her feelings true and irrevocable because by naming it as _like_ or _desire_ or—gods forbid!— _love_ would bring forth a new presence, a presence that would eat at her heart and tore at her veins until she does something about it. Besides, wasn’t it enough for her? All those memories at the space between should have been enough, _jouissance_ it had been yes but _jouissance_ is also pain, for a person can only take so much enjoyment, there is a limit to pleasure, and too much pleasure would be pain and suffering. Like love. Pain was the consequence of naming what they had, of labelling what they had. Or what they could probably not have.

“Brienne.”

“No Sansa. It is not like that.”

The redheaded girl pursed her lips. “Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing.” Brienne looked at her and knew she would not let it go unless she say something, anything that would box whatever it is and make it understandable for Sansa, for herself, for Jaime. So she gave in. “It is friendship. I think.”

 

 

Brienne would have to be honest and say she did wait for Jaime to show up the morning she left for the Vale. Though she couldn’t bear the thought of ever admitting that she did wait, cheesy romantic movies and airport scenes aside, she knew the least thing she could do to keep her peace of mind was to be honest and admit she had hoped, for a little while, that his blond arrogant self would appear at the airport, all insults and dirty words in his mouth but promises as well, that he would welcome her to the capital if she would ever find herself there, and an offer of some semblance of friendship (in whatever variant) if not the Harrenhal kind of friendship.

But he was not there and she had to move on, she was a professional after all and she is a professional before she is a woman, a colleague before she is a friend and she would not make the same mistake again of putting herself in the role of a woman and suffering what a woman suffers. So it was with much renewed sense of professionalism that she met Lysa Arryn, accepted her new post and office space at the Vale and the new housing complex where she would be staying for the next six months.

She had met new faces and work seemed easy, easier compared to her last assignment with the Boltons, and Sansa was there every evening to cook and tell her stories about her internship for Petyr Baelish—that gross, gross, old man (Sansa’s words)—and divert her mind from thoughts of a certain blond man. She usually slept early, didn’t watch too much TV, there was nothing to watch anyway, though Sansa usually keeps it on to provide some background sound while she talks and Brienne works. She usually ate heartily, Sansa feeds her well and from time to time they would visit the large supermarket at the Gates of the Moon to get fresh produce. It was colder in the Vale but Brienne does not mind, she slept well, ate well, work well. Everything is well. Or at least everything seemed well.

It has been a month and Catelyn continuously communicated with her. Pod as well. But Jaime—she had to admit her heart does almost, always seemed to burst whenever she got an email from the Riverlands—had not. Not even once.

 

 

Brienne woke up to the insistent ringing of her phone. She tried to ignore it, it was sometime in the middle of the night (or middle of the almost-morning) and no sane person should be calling anyone at this insane hour. She covered her ears and hoped the ringing would die down, perhaps it was a wrong number and she had almost heaved out a sigh of relief, eyes and consciousness ready to drift off again when it died down. But it was soon ringing again and she let out an exasperated groan as she pulled it out from underneath the pillows and the sheets and pushed the answer button. _This better be important._

“Wench.”

She was violently torn from her lethargy and she had never felt more awake in her entire life, blood rushing to pound in her ears and in her chest, more deafening than the silence that followed. “Jaime.”

“Brienne.”

She turned to look at her nightstand and realized it was past five in the morning and though getting up at five in the morning is alright in usual circumstances, it was a Sunday and Sunday meant sleeping in and lazing around. But he had called at an unusual hour despite it being a Sunday and she knew she should be annoyed and scold him for his lack of consideration but words ran out on her and she ran out of words.

“Brienne. Hey, you there?”

“Yes.” _Yes, I am, why now? Why just now?_ But it was only her breathing in the receiver and words were left unformed, unsaid.

“Did I call at an inconvenient time?”

She scoffed. “Inconvenient? It is 5 bloody AM Jaime. And it’s a Sunday.”

He laughed, and she found herself smiling despite the sudden surge of anger in her chest which had allowed some words to spill. “The day’s too fine to waste it on sleeping.”

The weather at the Vale is dreary and cloudy and she had wanted to tell him that if he had gone with her he would know how _fine_ everyday at the Vale is, but that would open up a conversation that she wouldn’t want to have with him, not at this moment, and she was certain he wouldn’t want to have it with her either. “Why did you call?”

“I missed you wench.”

She was almost a dam ready to burst as she bit back the tears that threatened the very walls she had built around her. But he did say they were friends and perhaps friends can say how much they miss each other and perhaps she was reading too much on what he was saying, reading too much between the lines and between between the lines, reading all the fine print and confusing letters and confusing words and confusing feelings.

“The sun’s rising.”

Brienne involuntarily reached out to throw her curtains wide open, scant rays pouring in, breaking through grey clouds. It was almost sunrise, it was almost beautiful. She remembered that sunrise they shared at the Maidenpool reservation, seemingly a lifetime ago and she thought that this almost-sunrise, regardless of the greys and navies and the impending showers, looked almost as beautiful.

“Good morning Brienne.”

“Good morning Jaime.” And she felt a lot better.

 

 

If not for Sansa’s arrival at around nine in the morning, Brienne knew they would have gone on talking but Sansa was there wiggling her eyebrows at her and making kissy faces that Brienne stuttered and stammered into the receiver, Jaime responding with a couple of insults on her capacity with words. She said they should just talk later, she has a guest by the way who cooks her breakfast and they have plans for Sunday at which Jaime replied with how unfair she was, they could have gone swimming he said if she came to King’s Landing (that conversation eventually came up and Jaime was cool about it and told her all she had missed because she chose the somnolent Vale over the capital).

“Talk to you later then wench.” To which she replied a breathy yes which earned a chuckle from him and a quick ending of the talk button from her end. She was red in the face by the time the call ended and Sansa was happily smiling, wiggly eyebrows telling her wordlessly there are tales to be shared and a certain man to be the topic of conversation.

They spent the entire day lazing and talking, watching movies and ordering pizza and potato wedges. For dinner they went out, a quiet restaurant just beyond the Gates of the Moon which has a nice ambience and served great food. Brienne talked about Jaime, general outlines of their friendship, she tried to keep her tone neutral but Sansa was grinning from ear to ear. She had skipped parts of their story which would have otherwise made Sansa grin bigger, parts which would might give the redhead girl (who spend watching romantic comedies in her free time) the wrong impression, that there was a more-than-friendly kind of relationship between her and Jaime because there was none (though apparently her own censoring of certain parts of their story could be a proof that she was having the wrong impression as well). She sent Sansa off to her dormitory, and took a bus home. The Vale was a pleasant place if she would really think about it, the cable car to the Eyrie, where she takes up office space, was one thing she looks forward to every morning.

By the time she arrived home it was some minutes past eleven and her phone was ringing.

 

 

“Jaime.” She didn’t want to sound breathless though apparently her body is refusing to cooperate with her.

“Took you long enough.” He laughed.

They talked about a lot of things; he asked about her job at the Vale, he told her about his, his new staff and how everyone suddenly seemed so little (or maybe because he had just been used to her he said), he asked her then about her accommodations, she told him about the cable car and he expressed how he should have known about that, how he would have probably signed up for the Vale if he knew. Then he told her about Tyrion, he was getting married it seemed, he knew from the papers though his brother hadn’t said anything about it (he had told her once about their rift) not that he was expecting Tyrion to inform him, “But still!”, he exclaimed. He then asked her about Sansa and told her that it was good at least someone was taking care of her, and making sure she eats her meals, because if let alone she would probably just keep on working, besides, she doesn’t need to diet, he said.

 “I’d have you as you are now.”

She had forgotten how to speak then so she only laughed and he joined her and soon they were both laughing.

“You’d be great wherever you go,” he suddenly said when all that was left were remnants of the laugh they shared, “Even in broadcasting.”

 _Ah_. She felt a tug at her heart then at his indirect apology and at that moment she wanted to tell him she wished she had gone to the capital instead so they can see the show he had been talking about and not endure the grey sunrises at the Vale, but she had held her own breath and words died on her throat.

“I’d call you tomorrow then.”

“Yes. Call.” There was a minute when she heard of only his smile and the surrounding noises of what she assumed is his own place and when she cleared her throat he only snorted and finally ended the call.

 

 

Just after she punched the snooze button on her alarm that following morning, he was already calling. Brienne told him off how she was supposed to sleep for five more minutes. His only answer was to snigger and told her he could just imagine how she looked. They talked as she went through her morning routine and she thought idly how it suddenly all seemed like she was back in Harrenhal. He ended the call saying he would call again in the evening.

It became part of her routine, his calling. In the mornings they would talk about random things, things they were supposed to do at work, things she was expecting to happen. In the evenings they would talk about how their day went; she would often laugh and frown (as if he could see it). He told her she needed to expand her vocabularies, because there are a lot of things he could not see (just like her glares and scowls) so she would have to put many things in words, even emotions. She had been a little nervous at that, afraid how to put things in words, how to put emotions in words, what if she puts _too much_ emotion she let slip all her thoughts? So she only said yes she would try and words came easy most times but words were left unformed whenever he said something that made her heart lurch forward, lurch down from her chest, from the Moon Door at the Eyrie, trampled upon by mountain goats she and Sansa saw when they went hiking and his voice asking if she was still there would be the only thing to jolt her from her sudden stupor, goats forgotten all of a sudden, and they would continue on with their conversation until he dropped words like a bomb again and she would be her petrified self once more.

He called usually whenever Sansa is preparing dinner and the redhead girl would raise a brow when her phone rings and Brienne would slip into the patio or escape to the living room or to any unoccupied room (except her bedroom) to talk to him. Sansa would be grinning by the time Brienne came back and the latter would be blushing, denying for a certainty that his calls meant nothing, only words and stories, just exchanges between two people who are friends.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspired by Jacques Lacan. Kudos and comments are love. And if Jaime sings Michael Bublé's Haven't Met You Yet there would be world peace. Or not. It's a song for Brienne supposedly. And because I can't get over how apt this song is for them (at least for Jaime before meeting Brienne) here is my favorite line: 
> 
> And I know that we can be so amazing  
> And being in your life is gonna change me  
> And now I can see every single possibility
> 
> There! Can't stop gushing. Feels.


	7. Old and new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadn’t he described what he and Cersei had as love? If that was love then he would not want to be in love with Brienne. He would want it to be something else.

He left the Riverlands the same day the wench left for the Vale. Perhaps it was pride or something similar— _I wouldn’t call her, she can go bat her eyelashes at the gay Baratheon for all I damn care_ —that made him angrier and more irritable. He went back to the capital, Catelyn sent him to work on auditing some company Petyr Baelish set up, engrossed himself with his new task, it was a little tricky but nothing compared to what he and that giant woman had to work on in Harrenhal. He could do it, he had been doing it all his life, this, being this alone.

He had to admit his heart did race at the sudden ringing of his phone, thinking it was the wench who finally came to her senses realizing she should not have crossed him, they were good together besides. _Together_ , it somehow tasted good in his mouth. Though the good taste turned into something stale when he noted the name on his phone. It was not supposed to be like this, he had been living only for Cersei, his stepsister, his lover, hadn’t he?

“Jaime.” Her tone was the harshest he had ever known.

“My sweet sister.”

“Come.”

 

 

Cersei had never come to him, he was always the one who needed to cross the distance between them, to meet her where she is, it had never been a relationship of equals (he now saw) and though the staleness in his mouth did not leave and only intensified, he walked the threshold to reach her, her in her red dress and golden hair, cruel eyes alit in the low light and he felt the sudden surge of painful desire flow through him. _Perhaps he had been without Cersei for too long_ , was what he thought when an image of Brienne, big and flushing came to mind. It had only ever been Cersei, Cersei and her insatiableness and he closed his mind to all other thoughts and tried to focus on all memories of Cersei and Cersei alone—the hum of his body meeting hers, the darkening of her eyes, the sensations of skin against skin. Cersei’s voice interrupted his thoughts just as they turned the green to blue, an expanse of freckled skin under his palms and the smell of innocence and honor and of _her. Brienne._

“Jaime.”

His eyes met hers and he could see the want in her eyes. “Sweet sister.”

“You didn’t call.”

“You didn’t.” He turned the taste in his mouth and found the words inside his mind were bile. Should it always have to be her?

She stripped off her red dress, never leaving the space she was standing, never letting a limb or a finger leave the circle she had made around herself. If he wanted her he would have to reach her. The image of her body, lithe and wanton, breasts heavy and heaving, urged his feet on, a hand reaching out to pull her into him, skin flushed against his own clothed self and he heard her moan. His mouth found her neck and latched itself to the pulsing skin, perfumed and sweet, his hands settling on the small of her back, urging her closer, closer still, wanting to savor and prolong the feel of her in his arms until she pushed him slightly and made a noise of annoyance and impatience.

“I need you to help me with something.” She slipped a hand between then and began unbuttoning his trousers, hands touching the hardness in his pants. He looked at her then, her words in his head and he could see all possible ways of how this would end. The desire in him was telling him to continue with it, thrust into her and get the release he had been seeking and wanting for half a year. _Brienne_. But something in him, perhaps that weariness at being this, _just this_ , to Cersei was screaming at him to stop being such a fool.

“With what?”

“I need to get some files for the Redwynes.”

 _Ah_. He had worked on the Redwyne accounts before and he could see how his knowledge of that account could help his sweet stepsister. Cersei was a lawyer, and had a taste for high profile cases. It did put her in the limelight which he knew she liked. Tyrion had often wondered aloud how their dear sweet stepsister could have probably passed law school and bar exams, she was less brilliant than she thought herself to be (Tyrion though had expressed it in more palpable terms, clearly sharper and more crude that involved a cunt word). He had alluded it then to their lack of chemistry, (though the chemistry Jaime and their sister developed was something more than should have been) and ignored Tyrion’s words, his references to Rhaegar, to the witless Kettlebacks and all other men whose names he had forgotten. He remembered what he told Brienne about his faithfulness and how she had reacted at that. He had wanted then to put his mouth against hers, test his own faithfulness (or whatever it is called, fear? Guilt? Lack of balls at allowing Cersei to lead him on like this?) and he felt the utmost regret at having stopped himself from kissing the big wench’s mouth, and all other parts of her and if he ever would pledge his faith to the wench, he knew it would really be faith.

“Will you help me?” Her mouth was on his neck, and a hand deftly stroking his cock. Will he help her? He knew he would have, if she had asked this of him before, before everything, before the spatial distance between King’s Landing and the Riverlands made him see what was there before his eyes. Had she been faithful as he was to her? He would have to ask Tyrion, though Tyrion had been missing for the better part of his life, leaving him alone to be blinded by the glitter in Cersei. Though not everything that glitters is gold. Cersei was not golden, he could see it now, the masking of everything underneath, cruel underneath all the glitter of gold, all pretentions masking her want to be him, to replace him. She had always been competitive though of course Tywin had always favoured him being that he was the _man_ and she the _woman_ and he had found it at first consuming how she would have wanted to always have him near her, believing it was love. Because if it was not love, what was it?

Tywin married again immediately after their mother died giving birth to Tyrion. When he saw Cersei for the first time, he immediately saw their physical likeness and how she resembled their late mother. Cersei’s mother died in an accident some three years after the marriage with his father and Cersei had clung to him then. He believed it was love when she walked into his room one night and slipped into his bed, a bed was made to be shared she had said and kissed him and soon enough they were rutting like boars, exhilarated at the temporary freedom and solace such pleasure provided them. But Tywin wanted her to marry and though she was older than Jaime their father insisted she would not inherit a single penny if she doesn’t marry someone of their standing, she was still an adopted child besides. She attended law school while he finished his MBA. Tyrion had told him once she fucked her way through law school, sleeping with professors and students alike. He had not believed of course, he was Cersei’s as Cersei was his and though he sometimes wondered how there could probably be some truth in Tyrion’s words (she was sometimes all talk, all airs, with nothing in her head to back it all up), Cersei’s mouth convinced him of anything but.

“Will you Jaime?” She guided his cock to her entrance, fingers entwined and rubbing around the pulsing flesh and he groaned. Will he? The past year had allowed him plenty enough space to think and perhaps he needed more space and more time to assess everything. He had been thinking with the head in his pants not with the one on top of his shoulders all these years and perhaps he needed to take a step back and try to understand why, despite the shivering in his body, his mind was going back to the time when he slipped in the wench’s bed and held her, just held her and he felt his own body sang then, a thousand times more exhilarating than the feel of Cersei’s skin against his own. A sense of completion, as if he had not known he had been missing something his entire life, as if he had been living as an incomplete entity his entire life and finally found that missing something, whatever it is, in the big wench with blue eyes. But Cersei was supposed to make him whole hadn’t she? He was reminded of all the times she had asked for his help with the use of her body, her mouth, her hands, and he knew that it was him making her whole and not the other way around, not the way Cersei informed him. It was she who needed him, who needed him to further her career. Why hadn’t he seen it until now? Now that the distance between him and the wench had grown to such threatening degrees he was beginning to be afraid that it would engulf them and make them forget. Just forget.

“It’s your case Cersei. Perhaps you should do your own research.” His words were bitter in his mouth.

“Isn’t this research?” He thought it was supposed to be a jest but Cersei never jested with him and it came out cruel and bitter and he eased himself away from her, cock stark red and hard and his own eyes swimming in something akin to anger.

“Is it? Is that all there is to this?” He zipped his pants, willing his arousal away.

“Why do you even ask me that Jaime?”

He looked away from her, bile rising in his throat. Perhaps, perhaps he should think everything through. He thought he understood everything, Cersei was everything besides, it was only now he was beginning to realize he hadn’t known a single thing about everything, about her. Had she changed? Or was it him? Or was he too blinded to have seen this?

“You’ve changed brother.” She slipped on her discarded dress and spat her words. “If you won’t help me I’ll find someone useful who will. Not some useless has-been like you.”

He felt some sort of loosening in his chest when the words left her mouth. At least it came from her, at least he had heard it clear, words ringing in his ears and he felt some sort of peace with himself, some sense of affirmation that he was that to her. She would come around he knew, she would eventually need something again, she would not discard him that quickly. If she needed him more than that she would come to him. But he knew he was fooling himself. He was only seeing it clearly now, seeing as if he had never been able to see before. He never felt this sober in his entire life.

 

 

Tyrion came to him three weeks after he came to King’s Landing. He was surprised to find him at the door to his office, forgetting to invite him in. When Tyrion mouthed some crude curses about not being invited after all, after all the trouble he went through just to make his way back to the capital, Jaime laughed, completely forgetting all those years of pain and hurt and quickly apologized for his attitude, invited his little brother inside and called someone to bring in coffee.

He inquired about his little brother’s whereabouts and soon Tyrion was telling him of his exploits across the Narrow Sea, and in turn Jaime told him of his past year at the Riverlands. He did mention something about Brienne, dropped a word about how big, tall, strong and much of a damn goody-two-shoes she was. He did tell him she was the stiffest, most stubborn woman with the tersest choice of words he had ever met. He did not however say she has the bluest blue eyes he had ever seen.

“Cersei was fuming.” Tyrion had settled on the couch and he was sitting across from him. It had been, how many, hours since they started talking and yet there were still too many things that needed to be said, too many things needed to be shared for a bridge that was burned to be made un-burnt.

Jaime scoffed, taking a sip of coffee. “Our sweet sister is always fuming.”

“Did someone bonk you in the head dear brother?” Tyrion looked at him suspiciously, a glint in his mismatched eyes.

“Someone.” He smiled with a tilt of his head.

“Took you long enough though. I had been telling you about our sweet sister’s sleeping habits but you never listened.”

Jaime nodded. “With whom?”

“With whom? That’s a tough one.” Tyrion arched a brow, a bite in his words, “The answer would have been easier if you asked me with whom she did not sleep with.”

“Some names, I have to start with some names.”

“The Kettlebacks. Of course you knew that.”

He did. Though of course he had been blind to see everything.

“Lancel.”

Jaime stared at him incredulously. “Our cousin?”

Tyrion shrugged. “Currently Robert Baratheon. Though I heard she was going at it with the Redwynes when she was trying to get their case.” He stood up, one hand in his pocket. He glanced at his watch. “Send my regards to your someone and thank her, I’m assuming it’s a her brother, though I won’t be discriminating if you had changed your preference without my knowing, but let me assume it’s a her, so thank her for me, for putting some sense into you.”

Jaime only smiled and opened the door for his brother. “See you around.”

Tyrion gave him a wave, “See you around.”

 

 

Jaime was jogging up Visenya’s Hill on the morning of the first day of the second month since he assumed his post at King’s Landing when an epiphany dawned on him. The sun was breaking into the horizon, scraps of light pushing through the clouds to flood his field of vision with a bright light. The thought was immediate, uncalled for but when he grasped it his heart raced to his throat, a dawning behind his eyes and his response was to dial the wench’s number and call her. The sun was almost up by the time she finally spoke through the phone, a couple of rings seemed to be like a thousand as he waited and waited for her to break through the barriers of spatial distance and meet him in the middle, make a connection through flimsy invisible wires of technology. When she finally answered the call he felt relieved, her voice was hoarse and cranky and he knew he had woken her from sleep which would have earned him a blow to his gut had he been standing anywhere near her (which he wouldn’t mind as long as he was _standing_ anywhere near her). His only response was to laugh at her and laugh some more at her inability to form words, jests flowing from his mouth like water, fluid and he realized he had missed her. When he voiced out that particular thought she had fallen silent, and he could just picture the blush staining her cheeks, her freckles highlighted and her blue eyes widening at the sudden confession.

They talked for hours, the sun was already up and shining bright and hot when she ended the call, mentioning Sansa Stark and then he promised to call her later. And later he did call. And everyday since then.

 

 

They were debating about the merits of a breaststroke when Tyrion came barging in. “I’ll call you later Brienne, Tyrion’s here.” Jaime did not fail to note the smile playing in the eyes of his little brother when he invited himself to sit on the chair in front of his desk, piles of paper between them. He had seen him thrice after he came some four months ago and Jaime welcomed every moment when he did.

“Was that your _someone_? Please. You didn’t have to stop.”

Jaime tried to ignore the suggestion ripe in his brother’s mouth. “What brings you here little brother?”

His brother made a grand sweep of his surroundings, a dramatic shrugging of his shoulders before he finally said, “I want to invite you to my engagement party.”

Jaime had read the papers of course and he knew Tyrion was getting married but he was surprised to find him inviting him after all the bad words said between them. Not that he doesn’t want to, he was just pleasantly shocked that Tyrion would include him.

“Though you should bring a plus one.”

He furrowed his brows.

“You know,” Tyrion looked him straight in the eye, “A date. A woman.”

“I don’t have any woman in my life now.” Which is true, seeing that Cersei had ended whatever it was between them months ago. Though surely, if he thought about it, it can be said that everything had ended more than a year ago when he left. Or it could be that there was nothing after all, since apparently Cersei had never returned the same intensity of feelings, she had never been in it for the same reasons besides.

“Brienne is a woman. You did say she is.”

“She is.” Jaime couldn’t help the slight smile on his lips.

“Then date her.”

“What?”

Tyrion only laughed. “I mean take her to the engagement party.”

Jaime knew there was something more behind his words but he only laughed and told him he would ask Brienne, though she was far at the Vale and he does not know if she could spare some time to fly to the capital. But Jaime perfectly understood what lay behind Tyrion’s spoken words yet he was a little afraid of admitting that he understood, that he knew, because this was Brienne they were talking about and he was not so certain it was that kind of relationship he wanted to have with her, she was _so good_ besides, though, he wouldn’t really mind (he realized suddenly as he thought about it) if she agreed to a similar arrangement. A date would be the perfect amendment to their otherwise rambunctious beginning.  He could just see the frown in her face. He almost laughed to himself.

Tyrion left immediately, urging him to call his plus one and continue whatever it was they were talking about, “I wouldn’t want to disrupt you from your wooing,” he said as he made his way to the door, chuckling his way through the corridors as Jaime stood up to see him out. “She tolerates you, it seems,” Tyrion called out as he stepped into the elevator, “You wouldn’t find any other woman like that.”

 

 

He called Brienne immediately to inform him of Tyrion’s invite. As he had expected, she did decline and told him she wouldn’t be able to leave, though she would try she said and would inform him about it if she could take a leave. “Besides, I want to see you.” The words were out of his mouth quicker than he had anticipated and he almost grimaced at the possible ramifications. He was beginning to act like a lovesick fool, because he was not lovesick, he was not in love anyway. Love is such a big word, a deep word, a thorny word. Hadn’t he described what he and Cersei had as love? If that was love then he would not want to be in love with Brienne. He would want it to be something else.

“I will make time.”

She would, his mind told him and he almost made a little happy dance in his head at the promise and told himself this was not love, this was something beyond love. This was beyond the frissons of lust he felt at the Maidenpool, nor the separation anxiety in his stomach at Duskendale. This was not the anger and the desire and the camaraderie and the understanding he felt in Harrenhal. This was not the envy and insecurity he felt at the Riverlands. This was all that but beyond that. This was not love.

 

 

A total of six months have passed before Cersei sent him a message again. _Come Jaime. I need you_. He was sitting then in his office, checking transactions between Baelish and the Arryns when Cersei’s message came. It seemed to burn as he read it, and reread it, weighing decisions in his head. He heard she lost the Redwyne case but that she filed an appeal and he was sure she was asking him to come once more to urge him to give her the files she had asked for before.

He turned off his phone, afraid that he would follow her again if he read her message for a third time. He had chosen to ignore her looming presence in the days that followed since Cersei, in crude words, ended their relationship though he was sometimes unsuccessful given the media hype around the Redwyne case and Cersei’s beautiful face was all over the news. He turned his phone on, read the message a third time and finally deleted it, breathing a sigh of relief as he eradicated that piece of presence of hers trying to creep back into his everyday routine.

His phone buzzed however again and he felt that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, worried it was Cersei again with her pleas and demands. The worry, however, was quickly replaced by that sudden twisting of knots he associated with excitement (and lust) as he scrolled down to find out who it was. He immediately tensed and stood up, grabbed his coat and car keys and called for Ilyn Payne to cancel all meetings scheduled in the afternoon and take note of all important calls and tell Tyrion (if he dropped by) that he would see him the day after and instructed Ilyn to inform Tyrion verbatim that something came up, something really really important, _someone_.

_Hello Jaime. I’m at the King’s Airport. -Brienne_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference to Jaime burning Cersei's letter in AFFC and his contrasting treatment of Brienne in ADWD. Such a shipper. Next up: King's Landing (and they'll be finally together again!). 
> 
> Chapter inspired by Bon Iver's Re:Stacks.
> 
> This is not the sound of a new man or crispy realization  
> It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away  
> Your love will be  
> Safe with me 
> 
> Kudos and comments are love.


	8. Anew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stark girl took it upon herself to explain the workings of men and women, how boys bring babies so she should steer away from boys, though she said that Jaime is no longer a boy but a man and would probably be careful enough not to give Brienne any babies in the immediate future (lest the blond girl would want him to, in that case Sansa declared herself a godmother).

Brienne did note the sly look Sansa gave her when she announced she was going to King’s Landing. It was only for a week yes but she thought the redhead would have pouted a bit at the oncoming respite from her presence, especially since her work at the Vale was coming to an end (and they still have some places they haven’t ticked off in their to-visit list). But Sansa was happy enough, and made sure she had a conversation with Brienne she would have probably gotten from her own mother had she lived. But as it was the Stark girl took it upon herself to explain the workings of men and women, how boys bring babies so she should steer away from boys, though she said that Jaime is no longer a boy but a man and would probably be careful enough not to give Brienne any babies in the immediate future (lest the blond girl would want him to, in that case Sansa declared herself a godmother). The redhead then proceeded into a detailed explanation of how she should not be afraid of her first time (“It did hurt a bit but you’ll get over it”) besides Jaime was a god (she saw him from some magazine apparently) and he would probably be good at it and that she should just enjoy. When it was apparent that her lecture was over, Brienne explained how her coming to King’s Landing was all about Catelyn wanting her to oversee some transactions happening that week between the Arryns and Baelish and had nothing to do with Jaime.

Why is why she found herself that afternoon waiting for said blond man (who equalled a god, at least in Sansa’s words) at the lobby of the King’s Airport.

 

 

Jaime did look like a god wearing gray trousers and a button-up when she spotted him. She made an attempt to raise an arm, to call him towards her seeing that he was turning his head in every which way trying to find her. But there was something that stopped her, perhaps it was how he looked, or perhaps it was the pounding in her chest that made her want to jump into a plane and fly back to the Vale, avoid this confrontation (What would she say to him? How would she say hi?) and she felt her right foot taking the initiative to step back when she heard him call out her name. She froze, one hand wrapped tightly on the straps of her messenger bag, the other petrified at her side as he made his way to her, a predatory grin on his beautiful, beautiful face and a glint in his green eyes. She felt herself melting to a puddle at the seemingly slow-motion of the entire scene and she inwardly berated herself for spending nights watching stupid romantic movies at Sansa’s behest. The world almost stopped when he did stop in front of her, only a foot between them and she took an involuntary step back to widen her distance from him. It was the rose-tinted glasses Sansa discussed the other night, that kind of worldview of people who are in love, that kind of feeling associated with limirence. She knew she was not in love and she was not wearing any rose-tinted glasses (heck she doesn’t even own one) and her eyesight was as clear as the bright sky at King’s Landing and she was not blind.

“Brienne.” Her name rolled off his tongue slowly and she grimaced inwardly at how her insides twisted at all the possible ways he could say her name. She blamed it on Sansa and her pornographic discussion (contrasting to her demure way of delivery) of sex and tongues and mouth and hands and all other body parts she refused to name in her head lest she began picturing them out which would utterly be inappropriate.

His hand snaked to hers to reach for her messenger bag, fingers briefly brushing, and beckoned to the little luggage beside her. When she nodded he pulled it as well, pulling it along its wheels as he gestured towards the exit. She followed him, berating herself for letting him take her messenger bag and act all helplessly _like a girl_ as if she could not carry her own things, as if she could not carry heavier things (because she can apparently). Her eyes moved up from watching her own feet to watching his back, tracing his leanness apparent underneath his shirt as he crossed the distance to the parking lot, eyes going down and down until she set them on his behind. She did not really understand why women tended to be attracted to that part though as she watched him take a step after languid step (looking as if he owned the world) she began to understand why. When he stopped suddenly she had almost collided with his back.

“You were checking me out.”

The red on her face was enough proof that she indeed was but she denied, shaking her head from side to side until he laughed out loud and hauled her stuff into his car. He opened the passenger door with a bow which made her grimace at the fluttering the cheesy move caused in her stomach. She stepped in and fitted herself snugly in the warm interior of his car, sleek and powerful and so like its owner.

“How was the flight?” Jaime revved the engine, the purr smooth and she squeezed her legs tight at the comparisons she made of Jaime and his car and wondered whether he could purr in the same way.

Her mind was clearly in the gutter as she slowly registered his question and she cleared her mind off any activities Sansa has alluded to and answered, “It was alright.”

“How was it at the Vale?” He drove into the freeway and Brienne could see the beautiful horizon of the King’s Landing. It was not the same at the Vale where everything had been mountainous and cold, nor was it similar with the Riverlands or with Harrenhal, even the Westerlands. There was a local color she could not explain, in the scent of the air, of the feel of the sun on her skin, warmer than the sun at the Riverlands yet cooler than in Dorne and she understood why Jaime loved this place.

“It was cold. It started snowing the week before. Before that it was raining almost everyday.”

“I could have kept you warm.”

His words did send a frisson of something warm in the pit of her stomach, shiver spreading through her toes and she curled her hands on her seatbelt, breath stuck in her throat, afraid to let it out and make some noise, some semblance of a sigh, and give him something to tease her about. “Shut up Jaime.”

“There. There is the wench.” He chuckled.

“I’m staying for just a week.”

He turned to her sharply. “Just a week?”

Brienne nodded, not looking at the pout he made and not thinking of any other reason why he would pout at that. He was acting like a boy. “Catelyn wanted me to oversee some transactions.”

“And then?”

“And then I’m coming back to the Vale.”

“But your contract at the Vale is about to expire.”

She shrugged. “Yes. And I’ll be sent to another location. Perhaps the Riverrun.”

“Come here then.”

She wouldn’t want any such conversation again. The last time they did they did not end on a good note. Jaime was quick to anger and she was quick to be defensive. Perhaps they were not as good together as she had thought. Though she should not have thought about them being together in the first place. They have discussed their fights at length, and he had apologized in not so many words though she noted how he sounded irritated whenever Renly’s name was mentioned during their phone conversations. It was nothing she knew, she should not read deeper into that.

They turned up at an affluent district and Jaime pulled up at a parking lot of a high rise building. “We’re here,” he announced as he killed the engine.

 

 

“So you begin tomorrow?” Jaime opened the door for her and she skidded to the side to avoid any contact as she passed by him, bumping against the door frame in the process. He only snorted at her awkwardness and followed after her and placed her things on the couch. “This is the couch Brienne.”

She furrowed her brows at him, mouth set into a thin line, anticipating a jest or an insult. “Obviously.”

He cocked his head to the side, a smirk on his lips. “I can show you how to use it.”

“I know how to use a couch.” She wanted to ask him the point of his question then realized she should not, it was one of those things he does, putting a stupid question forward as a bait only to make fun of her in the end. She rolled her eyes at him. “It’s a big seat,” she sat down, and she watched as he mimicked her, sitting too near for her liking, _too_ near, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“It is. But it’s not just for sitting.”

She could almost see the gears in his head turning and she knew how this would turn out: he would drop some lecherous comment and she would redden and then hit him. He seemed to be getting some high whenever she clocked him.

“It’s for many other things as well. Like the bed. I could provide a demo.” He almost whispered. He sat closer, fingers twisting loose strands of her now longer hair, eyes trained on her, finger pads grazing her cheek, tantalizingly slow and she felt the slight tremors in her belly, pooling hot and low and liquid and his mouth was so close she could tilt her head closer and close the distance between them. But she knew he was joking yet again so she quickly gave him what he had been asking for since he first saw her and she punched him in his stomach.

He yelped and clutched his stomach, torn between pain and laughter and for a few seconds she glared at him, at his pranks, at how, regardless of her knowledge that it was all a jest and nothing more, her body would still react to him that way. She watched him gasp for air like a fish out of water for some time until the absurdity of the situation registered to her and soon she was laughing like she had never laughed before, distance (in all sense of the word) between them disappearing bit by bit, time spent apart dissolving into nothing as they reconnect and it was Harrenhal all over again. _Friends._

When she wiped the tears from her eyes from laughing so hard he was looking at her in an almost tender way, though she told herself she had just imagined that tenderness for she may have been a little blind because of the tears. He broke into a smile, a smile that made his green eyes greener, the sinking sun behind him and she wondered at the unfairness of it all. She had accepted that she could never be like any other woman, she was not petite and not beautiful, not dainty and fragile. She had accepted everything since she first saw the truth reflected in the mirror when she was a child, the truth spelled out for her, spelled out blatantly in her height, her freckles, her teeth, her lips, her ungainliness and she had cried a bit at the inequality of it all for a time until she realized crying would never make her beautiful (it would make her even uglier) and she studied and made herself better in other things. She had learned and became wiser and knew that acting like a girl, braiding hairs and putting make up and dressing up, would never really suit her and it was all fine, she had accepted the reality of her freckles and her face and how most men never look beyond the skin, but looking at Jaime made her wish she was a little less ugly, a little less tall, a little less awkward, and a little less freckled so that somehow she would look alright, at least less mismatched when standing next to him. But she knew it could never be for she was who she was and she was strong like that but still she hoped at that moment that Jaime was that man who would look past skin and bones and deep into her, dive just dive deep into her, from the dark recesses of her mind to her very soul, her very core and find her, naked and her and just her.

“Nice to see you again wench.” He smiled and his smile was that promise that he could be that man, that man who would get to know her better.

 

 

Jaime told her that since it would be just for a week, he could loan her his guest room on the condition that she wear a bikini when they go swimming. She did hit him again which only made him chuckle and he led her to the spare bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed while she unpacked her clothes and her laptop. She tried to make him leave but he was adamant about staying so she eventually let him and cringed at the comments he made on each piece of clothing he found in her luggage. When he found however that bag containing her underwear she quickly grabbed it from him and scolded him about how it was bad manners to look at other people’s things.

“Any lacy underwear in there?”

Brienne made him shut up by pushing him off the bed but he quickly scrambled to his feet and tried to fish the bag out of her arms but she had secured it and quickly unpacked the rest of her stuff. Soon she was hauling him out of the bedroom and into the safer confines of the living room when he suddenly announced that he would make her something to eat since it was already almost dinner time. He padded to the kitchen and made her sit on a bar stool and made her watch him turn the stove on, heat the skillet and toss some meat in there and some spices. He was grinning at her as she watched pretending to be unimpressed at him with his rolled up sleeves, undone buttons and messy hair. “Didn’t know you could cook like that.”

“I learned. To impress girls.”

“Well you’re clearly using your skills to impress the wrong person.”

“Oh believe me I’m not.” To which he dramatically made a sweep of the contents of the skillet as he began plating, tossing greens here and there, acting like he was in some cooking show. He placed the plate in front of her with a flourish and gestured for her to start eating. He arched a brow waiting for a response and she simply nodded, not wanting to admit that it actually tasted nice, all overly dramatic act aside, and continued putting food into her mouth when he grabbed her fork and fished a piece out of her plate and into his mouth. “It does taste good.”

“Average.”

He arched a brow and moved across the kitchen to sit beside her. He grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack and uncorked it, poured a glass for her which she took a sip of. “Average? How can you even say that?”

“It is average. Sansa cooks better.”

“I can’t believe you.” He took a sip from the same glass and she realized they were sharing. She had the mind to tell him to get his own plate, his own utensils and his own glass but then she realized she was the guest and it was not right for a guest to be so demanding of her host. Perhaps he did make a bit more for one person so they took turns using the fork until she decided inwardly she would just use the spoon instead because the idea of tasting Jaime in her mouth was making her a bit light-headed (along with the effects of the wine). The blond man took some greens in his fork and offered it to her and when she made a move to extricate the fork from his grip he shook his head and beckoned her to open her mouth which she did. And when she took the greens in her mouth he resumed eating as if he was not doing something out of the ordinary, telling stories about Tyrion and his staff Ilyn and how the latter was more silent than her. “As if he has no tongue at all.”

“Maybe he just chooses words wisely.”

“Wisely!” He laughed, almost choking on his food. “Are you telling me you’re wiser than me?”

She rolled her eyes and took another sip. “Am I not?”

“I don’t think so wench. If you were wiser you would have understood what I had been trying to tell you since we left Harrenhal.”

She frowned. “And what was it?”

“That you should just come with me.” His response was delivered so flippantly Brienne decided not to make something more out of it. Besides, he did say they were friends and he seemed a lonely man to her, and maybe he does need a friend and she was that person to him. Besides, reading too much into this would render her more vulnerable than she already was, because hadn’t she made herself prone to such folly already sharing food and utensils and glass and stories and more things than she had shared with everybody else?  

 

 

Brienne volunteered to clean the wares (which were not many considering he liked sharing) and when she was done he brought out a tub of ice cream which they shared over a television series he said he liked. They finished the tub just as the first season ended, moon already in the sky and sleep wanting to claim her. He guided her to the bathroom and told her to wash up and then sleep, there would be a long day tomorrow and she nodded, almost half-asleep herself when she brushed her teeth and washed her face. By the time she was pulling sleeping clothes on, Jaime knocked and opened the door slightly, pillows and blankets on his arms and he placed them all on the edge of the bed. Brienne thought at first that he was going to invite himself in and share a bed with her and she became a little worried because she knew she would not refuse, she was half-asleep in the first place, when he declared he brought the pillows and blankets _for her_. She then realized that indeed there were no pillows and blankets and blushed sheepishly at herself. He took a step out but he was soon back again asking her if she needed anything more to which she shook her head and climbed onto the bed, ready to tuck herself in. By the third time Jaime came peering back, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, a yawn on the tip of her tongue.

“What Jaime?”

“Do you need anything else?”

She shook her head, hardly keeping one eye open.

“Alright. I’ll be in the room if you need anything.”

She nodded despite her creased brows. “Sleep now Jaime.” She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand.

“You sure you don’t need anything else?”

His voice suddenly had her turning, surprised he was still there and in an instant Jaime was touching her hip, a finger running circles on her  pyjama-clad skin, the warmth seeping in despite the barriers and she felt awake, taken aback by the sudden touch, sudden caress. She caught his eyes as he asked again whether she needed anything and she felt herself shook her head briefly as he descended down slowly, _slowly_ ,  to press a kiss on her cheek, his lips hot on her skin. His words barely registered to her as he moved his mouth to whisper something in her ear. Her heart was thunderous in her chest by the time he was out the door, the dull thud of wood meeting wood jolting her back from her stupor.

_I missed you wench._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fast update. My muse is a fickle one so I'm trying to update while the drive is still there. Anyway, so here we have their reunion. 
> 
> Chapter inspired by Gabrielle Aplin's More Than Friends. Kudos and comments are love.
> 
> Let's stay awake for hours,  
> just like we did back then.  
> When you draw pictures on my hand  
> in permanent marker pen.  
> We watch the sun go down,  
> but never feel the end.  
> Cause I know the sun and darkness are  
> more than friends.


	9. Self-help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was almost annoyed at the seeming injustice of the situation: here he was trying to curb the desire in him, trying with all his might not to pull her onto the bed and ravish her and all she could do was yawn?

To say that Jaime had almost come to begging Brienne to let him _in_ her room was an understatement. He had thought that she far away at the Vale was a hard thing (he had come to acknowledge that he considered her as more than a friend, that would have been blatant even to himself, given the way he wanted to provide her a welcome party that involved something _beyond_ cooking for her and making her eat ice cream, he could list all possible ways of eating ice cream with his mind currently in the gutter), but her on the other side of the wall was indescribably painful to bear. He knew he could simply push past her door, slip into her bed and begin touching her; he would reassure her it would be more fun than simply sharing food and utensils, because there were a lot of things they could _share_. But he had been trying to seduce her the minute he saw her at the airport but the girl seemed to be made of brick or something equally unfeeling, or maybe he had just lost his charms. He hadn’t needed to seduce anyone before, he was good-looking (for sure, he has that much confidence in himself), a smooth talker, he was a Lannister besides. But he had never felt so frustrated at himself until that moment he planted a kiss on her cheek and her only reaction was to gawk at him like he did something spectacularly silly. Which in hindsight may have been spectacularly silly.

He eased himself out of his jeans, arousal almost saying hello in the painful way it stood to attention (or lack of). It was almost shameful, the way he resorted to stroking himself, thinking it was the big wench’s hands, and almost pitiful as he tried to gather his bristling and slowly crumbling ego and contain the pleasure rolling through him in waves, arguing with himself it was only the need to release tension that prompted him to try to bring himself off and not because the wench wouldn’t let him _in_. He bit back the groan that almost issued from his mouth, images of her blue eyes wide in surprise at finding him stroking himself making the pleasure raw and exquisite. _Almost there_.

There was a sudden knock, her voice coming in a faint whisper as blood thudded in his head and the sudden sound made him pump faster, stroke faster as her voice caused prickles in his skin, every hair on his body standing to attention, her voice creating that illusion she was the one doing this, doing him.

“Jaime?”

He took in a deep breath, hand around his cock, and cleared his throat. Had he locked the door? He hadn’t. And he was sitting on the edge of his bed, directly across from the doorway. Would she walk through it? A part of him hoped she would, propriety be damned, and if she would he would make sure to provide her a thorough demonstration of what he could do, of what could be done on his bed, on her bed, on the couch, heck even on the kitchen table. But his dissolving poise was telling him it would only ruin whatever they have, that it was not yet the right time, the girl was too innocent and too naïve for him to be offering demonstrations of such sort. But was it possible she came because that little peck on her cheek did affect her too? Affected her so much she was willing to share his bed and more?

“Jaime you still awake?” the door jamb slowly turned and the minute it did he quickly stopped, heart hammering as if caught and he quickly pulled on the covers and tried to hide his arousal.

“Brienne.” His voice sounded weird in his ears and he hoped she hadn’t notice, it was already awkward as it was, and he wouldn’t suffer anymore blows to his confidence.

“You’re still awake.” She poked her head in the little space. She slowly pushed the door open wider and Jaime almost cringed. Letting herself in, stifling a yawn, she said, “Can I borrow your phone charger? Seems I forgot mine.”

He tried to maintain his cool though he inwardly grimaced. _Phone charger?_ And here he was physically charged! He could share some of his heat if she asked him to. He nodded nevertheless and began reaching for the drawer beside his bed (without leaving the bed and the cover) for the charger he knew he had tossed in there. Brienne gave him a quizzical look, and padded to the drawer to help herself.

“Here.” She said softly when she caught it in her hand. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand as she yawned again, tears leaking in the corners of her eyes. He was almost annoyed at the seeming injustice of the situation: here he was trying to curb the desire in him, trying with all his might not to pull her onto the bed and ravish her and all she could do was yawn?

“There.”

She stood up then, shifting her weight and he wondered whether it was the right time to ask her to share his sheets but then she spoke. “Good night then Jaime.” And proceeded to leave the room as if she had not came in mid-stroke, as if he was not fighting with every ounce of his morals (however tattered they may be) that tempest of temptation. He would have to resort to some self-help.

 

 

However much he wanted to make this sort of reunion with Brienne a more productive one (given that all his steps at seduction seemed to be failing) there was not much time and opportunity to test whatever had been growing between them since the girl seemed to have some ridiculous sense of professionalism when it came to work. She was always somewhere, attending the stock listing of Baelish’s new company, overseeing the Arryns’ purchase of majority of these new stocks, volatile as they may be. He had invited her many times in the course of the four days that she had been at King’s Landing and each time she refused, though she hadn’t when it came to dinner or lunch and Jaime was quick to make sure he had occupied each hour she allotted for meals (though she had always insisted they split the bill).

On one such occasion Jaime found themselves flanked by Tyrion and his not-yet-official fiancée at a restaurant near his office, his brother grinning from ear to ear at having found him mid-meal with his _someone._

“Nice to meet you Miss Brienne Tarth. Finally.” Tyrion did a little brow wiggling that had the girl scrunching her nose. She looked at Jaime briefly before taking Tyrion’s extended hand and shaking it.

“Nice to meet you as well. Jaime told me a lot about you.”

Jaime could foresee, as if he was a clairvoyant or something, all the possible scenarios, each scenario ending with at least one bruise from the tall girl; Tyrion’s mouth was as sharp as his was, and he could almost hear the humiliating words coming from his brother.

“I hope he had nothing but good words about me.” Tyrion grinned and invited himself (regardless of Jamie’s raised brow) and his fiancée at their table, taking the seat across from Brienne—Jaime liked sitting beside her more than across from her which made touching her easier. “This is Tysha, we’re getting married.”

“Congratulations.” There was genuine happiness in the eyes of the wench and Jaime felt an indescribable pull as he watched the word slip from her mouth.

“I guess my brother told you about the engagement party?”

Jaime wanted to speak then and move the discussion further along, knowing how his brother could turn every action and word he spoke before into something incriminating. He had not made a move yet and with Tyrion there all hopes of sharing more than what he and the wench were sharing now (not to mention possibilities of steamy nights) could go down the drain. But there was something ridiculously warming at seeing her and a member of his family interact, as if by such interaction she was being woven more permanently into his life which he doesn’t mind.

“He did.”

“He did invite you, didn’t he?”

“Ah, he did. I would be at the Vale then however.” Brienne was looking at Jaime intermittently, asking wordlessly if there was something she should know given the passing looks between him and Tyrion. Jaime placed a placating touch on the inside of her wrist, something which made her tense and he almost laughed at that. He did not remove his hand though and the wench seemed not to mind so he run his fingers until he finally reached her own hand, twining them together.

“Who would you come with if not your girlfriend?” It would seem though that Tyrion was not the one who would bring his downfall but Tysha, his brother’s fiancée who had kept quiet until now. Jaime’s eyes widened and he knew, even without looking at Brienne, that she mirrored his reactions, hand quickly pulled out from his grasp. Tyrion had the audacity to chuckle.

“I am not…You must be mistaken…”

Jaime shot her a look at her quick denial, was it that bad to be associated with him in that manner?

“Really? I’m sorry. Tyrion did say you were dating.”

“No. Jaime is…Jaime is dating someone else, aren’t  you?” Brienne’s eyes were a fathomless blue as she looked at him, something in there urging him to touch her more, assure her there was no one but her and her alone but he was not sure yet, not that sure at least. _Then what do you want?_ The little voice in his head forced him to assess what it was that he really wanted. He knew he wanted the big wench though as to whether he wanted her that much to begin something as _lasting_ as what he had with his former lover he was not sure. Besides, what he had with Cersei didn’t end well, he wouldn’t want the same thing with Brienne.

Tyrion was smiling at him, a twinkle in his eyes and Jaime wanted to punch the smug look out of his face. Tyrion then decided to clear his throat, Jaime thought it was some signal to end that overly uncomfortable discussion until he saw his brother smirk before calling for the waiter to place their order. “Jaime did insinuate about _someone_.”

Brienne shot him a glance and there was a little flush in her cheeks. She did look so uncertain he had the most intense urge to excuse them both but that would be inappropriate and he knew that if he followed that thought through, Brienne would only ask more questions and that would force him to put into words whatever feelings he had for the naïve woman. And he was not so sure he could do that now.

“Someone yes.” Jaime acknowledged, staring pointedly at his brother and almost kicking him in the shin under the table. Tyrion only chuckled.

“Jaime hasn’t told me a lot about you Brienne, Brienne is alright, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She took a sip of water. “Well, I’m not much of a topic of conversation.”

Tyrion shrugged. “He did say you are the most strapping girl he has ever met.”

Brienne matched his shrug. “He did say that. A number of times actually.” Jaime almost chuckled at the deadpan delivery suggesting her relative ease around Tyrion and Tysha. Jaime did quite recall he has called her crueller things before and he reached out to touch her hand again. She pinched his fingers but she nonetheless let him hold her hand and Jaime almost leaned into her had not Tyrion given him a knowing smile.

“But he didn’t say you have the most beautiful blue eyes.”

Brienne blushed immediately. He saw Tysha nod at Tyrion’s words and he felt a little stab of something at having been beaten to it by his brother. He should have been the one telling her that, he had that observation stuck in his head for a long time besides.

“Clearly, my brother doesn’t like sharing.” Tyrion seemed to know how their hands are entwined under the table and Jaime held on tighter despite Brienne trying to get her hand back. “Though I should warn you about him, he becomes a bit too possessive for a man. A bit clingy if you will.”

“As you are.” Tysha saved him with her comment and with the discussion unintentionally swerved to something else, he felt Brienne relaxing beside him. Though he wouldn’t want to let go of her hand he knew that it would further cause them embarrassment if any of the two people in their table notice how neither of them are eating because of course, with their hands entwined, eating would be a lot difficult. He slowly released her hand but not before he touched every patch of skin in her palms, fingers and wrist and felt her shiver slightly causing a little grin to grace his face.

 

 

 

By the end of Brienne’s week at the capital, Jaime drove her to the airport. She informed him of Catelyn’s email regarding her further stay at the King’s Landing. With the recent listing of Baelish’s company Littlefinger in the stock market, and with the Arryns being a major shareholder, the office of operations were to be moved to the capital. Jaime was exceptionally delighted and offered the wench living space (permanent living space he did say) at his spare bedroom but she immediately refused. She had asked the human resources to find an apartment for her that would fit her living allowance, she still has a week until she needed to move in besides, she has to go back to the Vale to turn over and pack up.

“How long do you need to be at the Vale?” Jaime was disappointed at the stubbornness of the girl. “You don’t need to find an apartment Brienne.”

“You’re a slob Jaime. You’d only make me do housework.”

He frowned. He did not renew his contract with the cleaning agency ever since Brienne informed him of her extended stay at the capital. She did say she liked doing housework and a cleaning lady coming in twice a week would be a big hassle to the activities he was lining up in his head. They can share housework, and beds. “But I cook,” he argued.

“The same thing everyday.” She hauled her bags from the car as they came to a stop. He was driving her to the airport that day. “I’d be at the Vale for about a week, or two. I think Beric Dondarrion’s my replacement.”

Jaime had talked to the man once. Beric Dondarrion was loyal to the Starks and he was good enough. “I did cook something else the other night.”

She grimaced. “And how did that turn out?”

It turned out to be inedible and Brienne suggested they call for pizza instead. He almost laughed at the memory of her face scowling at him. “I could come with you.”

“What?”

“I said I could come with you to the Vale. You did say it’ll just be a week or two.”

Her response was quick. “No.”

He wrinkled his nose at her. She checked her luggage in and they walked around the airport while they waited for boarding. What would a week or two be? They had spent months apart, he knew a week or two shouldn’t make much of a difference but still. Perhaps Tyrion was right, he was possessive and clingy. Though he wondered why he couldn’t stop voicing out his need to come with the wench when he had been so good at controlling his feelings and hiding his relationship with Cersei. “You could come to the engagement party right?”

She nodded, looking at the watch. “They look good together.”

“They do. As we do too.”

She stared pointedly at him. “Couldn’t you let at least one minute pass without any of your jokes?”

Jaime crossed his arms, thinking her words through. “Am I joking?”

“Of course you are.”

He ran all possible responses in his head, he had been using his tongue without thinking all this time and it had always yielded misunderstandings between him and the wench, especially since the wench was too naïve to read between the lines. He knew he wasn’t joking and the idea of together was pleasing in his head (regardless of whether she thought of him a slob and she a brute in his own perception) though even though he wanted to spell it out for her he just couldn’t, not yet at least, because he was quite uncertain of how to call this feeling of wanting to be together. He wanted of course to share more than beds—he liked talking to her, no matter how sparse her words may be, and she had the most varied angry facial expressions (ranging from pursed lips to a full scowl). He liked her intelligence, her depth; she was surprisingly funny and her sense of decorum was so severe he knew he could learn a thing or two from her to salvage his deteriorating morals. She was warm and he never knew that kind of warmth from anyone, not even Cersei, because Cersei’s love was cold. But he knew she was special, in that special kind of way no girl had ever been in his entire life (not Cersei, Cersei was different, her presence was overpowering, overwhelming, a presence overshadowing his); Brienne was that kind of presence that made him acknowledge himself as well as hers, different yet the same and he knew _together_ would be an amazing experience. He wanted to put all these thoughts into words but words seemed shallow and hollow and so he kept looking at her, unable to respond until she said it was almost boarding time for her and the following announcement confirmed her words.

“I’ll see you then.” She tightened her hold on the straps of her messenger bag. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“I’m telling you, you could stay longer.”

She gave him a quick punch to the arm. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then try not to miss me too much.”

“I won’t.”

He smiled, fingers grazing her free hand. “You won’t try?”

“I won’t miss you. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“I can put some other things.”

She blushed though she responded with another punch.

“I’ll pick you up when you return.”

“No need. I’ll directly go to the apartment HR will find for me. I’ll call you once I’m settled in.”

“If they find you one.”

“They will.” She began walking towards the escalator. “They’ve already sent me some info. Bye then.”

He would have argued more, _let me pick you up, let me come to the Vale, live with me,_ but she was already walking away. So far words have failed him but he has no other choice but to rely on words. She was receding and though a week or two was only a week or two, he knew it was still a week or two, a week or two of possibilities and developments and realizations, perhaps in a week or two he would come up with words comprehensive enough to make her understand that he wanted her more than friends. But the words in his mouth were jests and half-jests, but jests were half-meant but he meant all that he said. “Don’t stoop so low and touch yourself if you miss me.”

Her face turned beet red and he wondered if she also resorted to doing something similar because he had, and he would, he could foresee how he would have to do the same to curb his desire in the coming week or two. He knew people heard him because he had almost shouted his words as she was some feet away already and he smiled inwardly, enjoying the extreme flush on her face.

“A week wouldn’t be much, I will satisfy you when you come back, hands, mouth, whatever you want.”

She turned sharply and was looking as if she was in pain, gesturing to the people now looking at them. He chuckled, her blue eyes wide at him scolding him wordlessly.

“But if you really need to you can just call me. You know, phone sex.”

She gritted her teeth at his words, eyes becoming impossibly wider and bluer and he was smiling despite the threat of some extreme form of bodily harm etched on her face. He could read the words “Shut up Jaime” form in her lips though when he chuckled he noted the way a small smile formed on her lips, a promise of revenge or something and he realized he couldn’t wait.  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter at King's Landing. I wanted to speed it up, get them together, feels the feels, but I brought this upon myself so yeah, some more UST here. I realized I tended to make Brienne chapters a bit more thoughtful than Jaime chapters, well I can't help it, Jaime is a lech. 
> 
> Chapter inspired by Michael Bublé's Some Kind of Wonderful:
> 
> All you have to do is touch my hand  
> And show me you understand  
> And that something happens to me  
> That some kind of wonderful
> 
> I know I can't express  
> This feeling of tenderness  
> And there's so much I wanna say  
> But the right words don't come my way


	10. Build and wreck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was feeling sleepy and tired and she wanted to see Jaime but Jaime was somewhere far and she would not find him on her couch because he did say she should not keep her hopes up.

HR found her an apartment at a quaint area near the Cobbler’s Square much to Jaime’s displeasure, exaggerating how far he had to travel from Aegon’s Hill just to see her. She had the mind to tell him that the solution to his nonsense problem was to not just see her, given that there really would be no need to see each other since they were working on separate accounts. Though there were overlaps of course and Jaime had consulted with her more than once on certain transactions Baelish had with the Arryns, but still, they have done very well with calls. But she would be fooling herself if she as much as deny the fluttering in her chest when he said he would see her and though something in her was telling her (and it was probably reason talking to her) that she should not think beyond his words, she sometimes could not help the little noise in her mind saying she should just kiss him and see where the heck it would lead them.

She had managed to furnish her little apartment with some furniture and fixtures and she had to admit that she indulged a bit with her bed and her bathtub knowing that these were the only respite she would get from the harried and surprisingly intense workload she was now having given the relocation of the Arryn office to the King’s Landing. Jaime had snuck in many times when she had been making dinner, jesting how she had left the doors unlock though she knew very well she had (when in fact he only used the spare key she kept hidden in one of the hidden places by the brick walls). She had a little garden at the back of the apartment, a little patch of land where some flowers and weeds have grown and she thought she should start growing some vegetables though she didn’t know when she would have the time when Jaime voiced out how he doesn’t mind getting all down and dirty planting greens and _seeds_ (to which he wriggled his brows and she responded with a punch). They had eventually cleaned the little plot of land, uprooted the weeds and left the flowers growing there, though she still hasn’t gotten around to planting edible things.

“What’s your plan for the New Year’s Eve?” Jaime poured her a glass of wine and popped a sausage in his mouth. She didn’t really notice time passing by. The year had ended and it had been four months since she finally settled in King’s Landing. The last time they celebrated New Year’s Eve was at Harrenhal and there was too much work then and they only had time to greet each other and uncork a bottle of wine which they did not consume.

“Home. Work.” Brienne looked at him over the brim of her glass and though she provided him with a glass of his own he kept on drinking from hers. Jaime had almost taken residence in her apartment, she had cleared some space in her cabinet for his things when he brought a good number of clothes the first weekend of her moving. She had expressed then how uninvited he really was though that did not prevent him from stepping around her, into the confines of her household, inside her bedroom and flopping down on her made-up bed. She had told him then that the stuff he brought seemed to be more than the stuff she owned and had begrudgingly cleared a space for him on the condition that he was not to enter her bedroom without permission, that he would have the couch instead. He had only laughed on her pillows then and had eventually fallen asleep on her bed. She had woken him up by the evening and he had almost pulled her to bed hadn’t she punched him.

He arched a brow. “Baelish is throwing a party. You will be invited of course, but I’m inviting you now just in case someone gets thwacked in the head and invite you.”

“No one will risk inviting me Jaime.”

He stared pointedly at her. “I am.”

“Have you been thwacked on the head then?”

He laughed. “Yes. By you.”

“Shut up.” Jaime did call her during the two weeks she had been back at the Vale and offered to have phone sex, each time asking her what she was wearing, how she should be wearing lace underwear so he could tear it off her easily. Each time she responded with the threat of hanging up, and each time it worked though there were times when she wished it hadn’t (at least then she could pretend she was only listening because it hadn’t worked on him). Though there was one time when she did try to get back at him and she quickly asked, cheeks fuming then (and cheeks fuming now as she remembered), what he was wearing, a groan suddenly issuing out of the receiver followed by a long silence that had her worried until he was laughing at the other end of the line and she was laughing too. Jaime offered then to let them continue with their steamy conversation but she quickly shut him up.

“But you will be coming with me, won’t you?” If not for the uncertainty in his tone she would have said no just to infuriate him, but he looked so much like a little boy then that she knew any word other than yes would have him feeling bad. His eyes lit up at her response and he proceeded to clear the plates. He volunteered to do the dishes since she fed him and she agreed, moving to the couch to resume working.

By the time her eyes were blurring from looking too much at her laptop screen, he was flopping down on the couch behind her, hands crawling to rest on her shoulders, working at the kinks there and he was surprisingly good at it and she let out a satisfied murmur slip past her lips. His hands worked downwards, touching and massaging her flesh and muscles, her eyes closed when she felt him resting his cheek against her shoulders. She hissed. “Jaime,” a tone of admonishment.

“Brienne.” He mimicked her tone but let his hands graze her waist and he nuzzled against her nape, his two-day beard scratching against the sensitive skin there and she squirmed. She knew she should scold him, have him disentangle himself from her but a part of her wanted his warmth. Besides, they were friends, weren’t they? She told herself to relax, and felt every fiber of his beard against her nape, and noted that he nevertheless kept space between them, his legs folded in a cross-sitting position behind her as he leaned to bury his nose in her hair. “What are you wearing?”

“We’re not even using phones Jaime.”

She felt the tilt of his head, his mouth in her hair and he chuckled. “Better then. Ask me what I’m wearing.”

“I won’t play this lewd game with you.”

“Who said anything about playing?” He sniffed the shell of her ear which caused her to shriek and she elbowed him in his side, trying to get her concentration back and continue reading.

“I’m busy Jaime.”

“I am too.” He sniffed again and she elbowed him again in response, a groan coming from his mouth told her she got him in the belly and she chuckled a bit. “What are you doing?” he rested his chin on her shoulder, hands tentatively curled around her waist (she noted how there was no pressure in his touch, as if he was holding just the fabric and was preparing to bolt out if she as much as flinch). “Brienne.”

“Can’t you see I’m reading Jaime?”

“You aren’t.” She felt him smile against her shoulder. “You haven’t moved from that page since I sat down.”

“Because you are distracting me.”

“I am distracting you how?”

“Like that.”

“Like what?”

She sighed exasperatedly at him, quickly pulling away from him and up on her feet, air warmed up between them. “I’m going to sleep and don’t follow me. You have the couch.” Every fiber of her was alit in fire and she hoped she didn’t look like she was wobbling when she tried to reach the safe confines of her bedroom. His chuckle told him she did and she grimaced.

 

 

Sansa had called asking if she could stay over the first week of the New Year; Brienne agreed, she wanted to see the redhead and they could explore King’s Landing together since the Stark girl had not been to the capital before. Brienne listed all possible places to see and Sansa was quick to add other places she had read in tourist brochures but was also quick to express concern over Jaime.

“And why?” Brienne could feel the beginnings of a flush heating her skin.

“You know. He might not like me stealing you off.”

Brienne understood perfectly well that Sansa had misunderstood her relationship with Jaime even if she had tried many times to educate her and inform her that no, they were not like that, nor were they sleeping together (though Sansa would most definitely not believe the latter since that time she answered Jaime’s call for Brienne in which Jaime’s opening was asking what she was wearing soliciting a quick apology from the redhead and an explanation that Brienne was at the kitchen and that she would be handing out her phone to her so that they could continue with their _conversation_ ).

Brienne would have to let the blond man know in any case, he would be barred from her apartment during the first week of the new year and she could now picture how he would react, frowning and pouting and telling her not to touch herself in case she missed him (which she had not done, though she did touch herself once thinking of him, but it was not because she was missing him) like he did when he sent her off at the airport.

The party was tomorrow night and Jaime had been pestering her about buying a dress though he knew very well that she doesn’t like wearing dresses. She had agreed though and they bought something blue that surprisingly fitted her well which had him grinning from ear to ear. She remembered how he insisted on squeezing himself in the dressing room and she had to push him out just to stop him from undoing the buttons on her shirt (even though she could manage on her own very well), the sales person eyeing them rather suspiciously. She had to admit though that there was something blooming in the pit of her stomach when he eventually gave in and raised his hands in defeat and agreed to just wait outside the dressing room.

She would never be beautiful _beautiful_ but the sheath dress that reached just a little past her knees was wonderful as it was, showing curves which were surprisingly there and Jaime’s reaction about how it brought out her eyes was nice to hear and though she knew he was being kind and condescending (when he said all other things about the invisible-but-now-visible curves) she still felt that it was somewhat different, like she was a teen once again and getting her first dress for a ball. Of course she had never really liked balls and parties, with dresses already horrible as they were, but it was that feeling of estrangement, as if she was nowhere near familiar, as if she was in some place peering from the outside, seeing love and some form of it formed between men and women and she couldn’t take part in it because she was ugly and different and big and tall. But Jaime’s smile and eyes made it a bit easier, as if he was guiding her step by step from estrangement to familiarity, a warm sort of familiarity that had her smiling back at him.

So she bought the dress (though Jaime insisted he pay for it) and looked forward to seeing the same look on Jaime’s face when she would wear it on New Year’s Eve.

 

 

Jaime looked impeccable in his suit and tie and she would have felt a little different hadn’t there been a bright glint in his green eyes. He smiled at her, that sort of smile which had her insides jumbling and she took the arm he offered. Jaime was all smiles and fewer quips when he greeted her, arm quickly slipping around her waist to pull her closer, arm never leaving her as they exchanged pleasantries with some unfamiliar faces. Brienne noted the way other women looked at Jaime and at her and she knew of course the difference between them—she had never felt so in need of explaining to someone about the nature of their relationship.

Tyrion was there with his fiancée and Brienne was more than happy to see some recognizable people (though she had to ignore the knowing glances Tyrion sent her with Jaime’s arm around her). She broke free of his hold to which he responded with a glare, a quick scrambling to take hold of her hand instead which had Tysha laughing. Jaime was caught in a conversation with someone she didn’t know and she quickly took advantage of his occupied state and removed her hand from his. She followed Tyrion and Tysha (tapping Jaime quickly to inform him of where she was headed) to the bar where they exchanged small talks and Brienne tried to ignore Tyrion’s misleading questions. Tyrion then excused themselves, saying how they should get reacquainted with some old friends from the capital when Cersei Lannister appeared before her.

“Hello.” Though the greeting was pleasant, the spike in the tone was there.

Cersei Lannister was by far the most beautiful woman she had ever seen and though she had come to know women like her tended to treat people like her like some ungainly freak, and though she had come to develop some kind of an armoured façade against such women, she knew Cersei Lannister was different. She could see a similarity with Jaime though Jaime told her she was adopted. “Hello.”

Her smile was calculated, a slow growing of something akin to smile hiding depths and depths of cruel jests. “You’re the Stark employee?”

Brienne swallowed hard. “Catelyn’s.”

Cersei shrugged. “Doesn’t make any difference.” She looked at her, a little feral smile on her perfect red lips and Brienne had never felt bigger and more awkward, the blue dress not managing to hide her imperfections (which she deemed many) from someone as beautiful as Cersei Lannister. The blond woman continued to asses her, her head tilting slightly making Brienne squirm uncomfortably in her dress, eyes looking at every other thing within her line of sight except her. “You’re Jaime’s new plaything. He does have a penchant for the grotesque I see.”

“No I’m not…” what was she then? She wasn’t a plaything was she? Besides playthings are cute little vapid beddable women, she knew she was far from any of those adjectives.

Cersei let a hollow pretty laugh escape her mouth, and she moved closer, body sashaying underneath her red dress, perfect and a goddess and Brienne wanted to escape. Many had taunted her to her face and she had managed them all, but Cersei’s words cut deeper than the rest of them and she wondered whether it was because Jaime was this woman’s and he can never be anyone’s if a woman like Cersei was already owning him. Brienne had only guessed Cersei’s relation to Jaime because Jaime’s smile often changed to something that had her heart near to bursting whenever Cersei’s face appeared in the news, or in magazines. Brienne knew that she was an adopted daughter and whatever it was between Jaime and the blond woman, it was never impossible, they looked good together besides. Jaime did say he was faithful to someone and she knew Jaime was, even after all the hollow innuendos, she knew he was keeping faith, never to hers, never to her big, tall, freckled self, she would never hold Jaime’s faith, ugly as she was.

Jaime was immediately on his stepsister’s side, his arm that was previously around her now encasing his sister’s much smaller waist. Brienne opened her mouth to speak then, to excuse herself but words left her and betrayed her and she watched as Jaime’s eyes flickered slowly to look intently at Cersei, his other hand slipping inside her smaller ones, all his movements confirming that it was Cersei all along, that Cersei was the one woman all along. Jaime briefly looked at Brienne then, eyes unreadable as he pursed his lips together sending her that queer feeling that she must have done something wrong. Had she caused a rift in them? Brienne knew it would be too much to even think that she could cause a rift between them, two beautiful people torn apart by someone like her, though she worried, Jaime’s faith was never to be doubted and she wanted to explain to Cersei then but she knew she would be stepping out of bounds and it would be too presumptuous on her part to meddle with what they have. Who was she in the first place? Some ugly woman that may or may not be Jaime’s idea of killing time.

Cersei turned around then, facing Jaime, a quick peck on the corner of his mouth and Brienne felt so ashamed, so ashamed for ever thinking about being _together_ , for ever hoping that there was something beyond the friendship, the japes, the calls, the touches and she felt so foolish, for thinking she understood Jaime, for thinking she knew him because she doesn’t, she would never, in the same way that he would never be hers, never, for he was Cersei’s and Cersei’s alone.

Renly Baratheon appeared on her side, a hand around her forearm jolting her back from her inward escape and she turned abruptly, eyes widening at seeing him there, the thought that he could be there never occurring to her. Renly greeted the Lannisters and Brienne almost sidestepped to hide in Renly’s side, head bowed, not wanting to meet Jaime’s gaze, his unfathomable gaze, Renly’s hand on her forearm still there, grounding her in the then and there and she nodded when Renly asked her if she could join him and Loras at the other end of the room. She let Renly lead her and she thought she heard Jaime said her name though she quickly ignored it because she knew he would not, he was with the woman of his life, what would he ever need her for and Brienne followed Renly to find Loras drinking wine and chatting with some people she knew she had met at the Storm Lands before.

“Brienne.” It was Loras who pulled her into a fierce hug and clapped her back. “You look well.”

“Thanks.” They did manage to create rapport the last time they all had dinner. Surprisingly, Loras found her funny and witty though Brienne does not know how her terse replies could be funny at all. Loras and his sister Margaery promised her a personal tour of Highgarden upon her arrival (though the dates for the new venture hadn’t been set yet). Renly gave Loras a quick look and they pulled Brienne to a relatively secluded area, an area providing her with a view of Jaime and his stepsister.

“What was that about?” Renly offered her a glass of wine which she took and sipped, the wine providing a slap to her fuzzy head.

Loras arched a brow in the direction of the Lannisters and Brienne only shrugged, not wanting to spill a single word, afraid tears would fall together with words and she took a deep intake of breath and sipped from her wine glass again. “Renly and I are having an after celebration of some sorts. I’m inviting you. Would you like to come?”

“You should come.”

Brienne considered the words in her head. She was thinking of inviting Jaime to a little dinner knowing that Sansa would be arriving in the coming week greatly limiting all possible time with the blond man, but she knew she had been thinking selfishly when she thought of inviting him, not thinking at all that there might be other people who Jaime wanted to spend New Year’s with. “I’ll come.”

 

 

Petyr Baelish’s speech was fitting for the occasion though she noted how she heard the same quotes in some other speeches he delivered to some other events. When the clock struck twelve the fireworks went off, beautifully rendering the sky in multicolors. Renly and Loras hugged beside her and she noted how other couples kissed and embraced under the beautifully lit sky. Brienne’s eyes travelled to where Jaime and his stepsister were and though she wanted to march to him and demand his presence at her side—she was his date, he _invited_ her!—she knew it would be a terrible terrible mistake to keep looking though she finally met his eyes the moment she decided to turn away and she knew he was about to mouth a Happy New Year when she decided to move to a different spot. She joined Renly and Loras for another glass of wine and though she doesn’t drink often she could boast of a high alcohol tolerance.

She was smiling by the end of the party, Renly and Loras providing good company when Tyrion nudged her. “Why are you here? And not there?” He gestured to his brother drinking at a table alone, looking golden and beautiful in his suit and tie. Cersei wasn’t there but Brienne only shrugged.

“Jaime has company.”

It was then Renly interrupted saying he and Loras would get the car and could she wait by the front door where they would pick her up. She only nodded, excused herself from Tyrion’s upturned mouth and stalked to the door, watching as people flowed out of the building, into the waiting cars and cabs.

“You’re leaving?” Jaime’s voice had her spinning, her heart pushing past her throat and she caught a little hurtful response at his question in her mouth. She only looked at the oncoming vehicles, not wanting to know what he was doing there beside her when Cersei was probably still inside. She should have asked him the same question months ago, when he began pestering her, what would he need her for? What for when Cersei was within reach in King’s Landing? “Where are you going?”

“Renly invited me.”

“Renly.” He sidled closer to her side, hands in either pocket. “What for?”

“Coffee or something. I don’t know.”

He turned sharply to her, his eyes almost gold against the harsh overhead lights of the oncoming vehicles. “Don’t keep your hopes up.”

She looked at him then, her mouth quivering to say something but as earlier, words are fickle friends. She swallowed hard, a bitter taste in her mouth, in her chest, in her heart, and she knew she would not hope, never, she would never keep her hopes up. She knew there were words between Jaime’s lines and she could read all, as if everything was spelled out for her in bright daylight, in broad strokes, that she should not keep her hopes up, because after all she was _just this and nothing more_ and Jaime never felt, never thought of something beyond this, never thought of her beyond the label friends. “I won’t.”

And Renly was speeding into the lane and Loras was waving at her to get in and she climbed up, eyes avoiding Jaime all the while.

 

 

 Renly dropped her off at her apartment by four in the morning. She was feeling sleepy and tired and she wanted to see Jaime but Jaime was somewhere far and she would not find him on her couch because he did say she should not keep her hopes up. She unlocked the door, locking it behind her as she passed, unzipping the back of her dress deftly with her long arms, throwing it in with all the dirty laundry, and slipped into a thick sweater and sweatpants.

She sat by the couch then, checked her phone for a mail, and found that Sansa and Margaery sent her greetings. There was one from Catelyn and she punched in a reply. There was, surprisingly, a company-issued greeting from Roose Bolton. There were greetings from other people she had met over the years working for Catelyn, some whose faces she could definitely recall, other’s she couldn’t. Strangers and friends alike.

But there was nothing from Jaime.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say this chapter would be lengthy though when I was writing it down I realized some parts that I previously wanted to be here would be better tackled in Jaime's POV. So I'm breaking this chapter into four chapters which would be better, transition-wise and POV-wise. I'll be posting the next three (which I think comprise the turning point of this entire story) asap. I've been constructing this arch of the story in my head and I've surprisingly filled in all dialogs and stuff like that though when I sit down to write them finally, I could not for the life of me remember what I thought about. Anyway, I hope I could type faster than I could think, words are slipping and I need to capture them on paper (er, monitor, MS Word?) really fast. 
> 
> Besides, this chapter is long enough, any more and it would feel a bit suffocating (I think), and layout-wise would be very different from the previous chapters. 
> 
> Well, this is still (I think!) a rather heavy chapter. Prepare for something heavier (heavier?) three chapters coming out asap.
> 
> Chapter inspired by Passenger's Let Her Go.
> 
> Cause you only need the light when it's burning low  
> Only miss the sun when it starts to snow  
> Only know your lover when you let her go  
> And you let her go.


	11. Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would have driven back but he knew Brienne was still angry with him and anger would only cloud their minds and he knew he would have to put it off for tomorrow, maybe by tomorrow they could both make time, and sit and talk down and discuss his jealousies and her jealousies and admit to each other that there was categorically no reason to be jealous in the first place.

He tried to catch the wench’s eyes when the fireworks were released in the sky but she ignored him, as if she didn’t know him, as if she didn’t come to the party with him. He wanted to spend the New Year’s with her, can’t she see that? He did invite her after all but her eyes were all on Renly even though she knew, _everyone_ knew, the Baratheon’s proclivities. It was not as if Renly’s object of affection wasn’t there—Seven hells Loras was there!—and it was not as if Renly could be anything more than an _objet petit a_ for Brienne.

Jaime was alarmed when she caught Cersei talking to her, afraid of what his sweet stepsister could do to her and his immediate reaction was to distract Cersei, all touches and soft words (because he had never known how to not touch Cersei) but the wench decided to leave him the instant she saw the gay Baratheon. He has no personal grudge whatsoever with Renly, but with the way things were going, he would probably have. He followed Brienne the moment he managed to slip from Cersei’s grasp (all she ever expressed was her need for the Redwyne files, even though he had made it clear that that would be impossible, and that after all, didn’t she say she would find someone more useful?) but the tall girl was flanked by Renly and Loras and Brienne seemed to enjoy their company better than she would have enjoyed his so he let her be. He let her be for the time being but he promised himself they would make up (and make out?) for such little time together after the party. But the wench apparently had something else in mind that did not involve him as he saw her leave. He wanted to make sure then that she understood, understood perfectly well, what she could hope for and what she could not in terms of Renly Baratheon’s affection though when he did her eyes melted into something that had words dissolving in his throat, useless and useless still, as she climbed up the Baratheon’s car to somewhere she didn’t bother to tell him.

So he left the party with his brother Tyrion and though the latter expressed his want to spend the first night of the new year with his soon-to-be wife, Jaime pretended to be deaf and pestered and pestered him until Tyrion relented by taking him to some drinking place where his only sober moment was the moment he apologized to Tysha for taking Tyrion away, the rest fading into a blur of memories of alcohol and sad blue eyes.

 

 

He woke up alone, the most painful headache in the history of mankind regarding him with fury. He called out Brienne’s name with the intention of asking for some aspirin, forgetting in an instant that he was home, alone in his big apartment at Aegon’s Hill, miles away from the wench’s house at Cobbler’s Street. He cursed the moment it all sank in, the drunken memories of last night, Tyrion’s words of how Jaime should have kept the wench by his side the whole evening, how he should have just steered clear of Cersei (everything between them has withered and died and he had his eyes opened besides), and how he should just spell everything out for Brienne. But Jaime knew it was not simply that, there was a big possibility that Brienne desired someone else and no matter how much he wanted to be that someone else, it can never be because he was Jaime Lannister and not Renly Baratheon.

He dialled her number then but her mobile phone was unattended and he figured she might be still asleep—she did join Renly and Loras for coffee, didn’t she? So he dragged himself to the bathroom, big anvils in his head, and took a cold bath. The water felt nice though it would have been all nicer if everything played out according to plan. He had planned to take her someplace, dinner or coffee, whatever she would have liked, and then they would have talked, because he knew that regardless of all their time spent together, it was the talking that was terribly lacking. After the talk, after some sort of an arrangement amenable to both parties had been reached, he would have suggested taking her home and he would have made love to her (celebrating the New Year with a bang as they say) but he was a fool and so was she and he had kept waiting and waiting for the right moment and before he knew it she had gone in someone else’s car. At that point he had realized that Brienne may not want him in the same way that he does and it was weird how that realization caused him to feel so uneasy and uncertain and so insecure because he had never been insecure, not even when Tyrion was telling it straight to his face about Cersei’s infidelities, only then, that time, that moment when Brienne looked at him with her sad angry blue eyes had he felt so uncertain about his own capacities.

The only consolation he could get from all this was that Renly was gay and he has Loras and would never –never!—contend with him for Brienne, but he knew he should not be confident, the wench has that uncanny capability to get under the skin.

 

 

Jaime dropped by the wench’s place and surprisingly found Sansa Stark in Brienne’s apartment. He was reminded of the wench’s note about Sansa’s week-long stay at King’s Landing and her reminders about sleepovers needing to be put to a pause during her guest’s stay. The redhead said Brienne was not there and she would probably get home late. He noticed how terse the replies of the Stark girl were though Jaime, from Brienne’s stories and from that time the Stark girl inadvertently answered one of his calls, had expected her to be a rather talkative lady. He wondered whether it has anything to do with what happened at the party and Jaime developed that nagging feeling that Brienne might be mad at him or something.

He went to his office instead and though people were scarce and though it was the first day of the year he decided he would rather be occupied with work than sit idle thinking about what to do with the wench. He tried calling her but her phone was off, or she was probably somewhere without connection. That evening when he finally managed to get through lines and lines of invisible communication signals, the wench spoke her words as if speaking to him was the hardest and he almost said some rueful remark hadn’t his anger gotten the better of him and soon he was speaking more than he knew he should have.

“I don’t even know why you called me in the first place if you only meant to get angry with me.”

He held the device tightly in his hands, blood pounding in his ears. “What you need wench is a wakeup call to snap you from your fancy daydreams of you and Renly.”

“I don’t—”

“You do. And it’s a terrible terrible thing to keep hoping that Renly would like you because he would never, not with someone like you.”

There was a pause in which he heard Brienne’s deep intake of breath, slow and broken and when she failed to produce words, he knew he had done something irreparable. He scrambled for words, words to explain that what he was trying to arrive at was Renly’s blatant preference for his own sex and that alone was enough reason why he would never return the wench’s feelings, implying that she should look for someone else because there is _someone_ willing to take Renly’s place in her daydreams, in her life.

But his mouth seemed unstoppable, tearing whatever it was that they have between them into shreds, irrevocably ruined when he said, “I told you to not keep your hopes up.”

“I know.” Her voice quivered in the receiver and he wanted to see her then, tell her that if Renly wouldn’t have her, he gladly would, but he was so angry and his pride was wounded with the wench’s fickleness and he could not, for the life of him, for the sake of their tattered relationship, get the right words out. “Good night Jaime.”

He knew she was angry the moment the line went dead.

 

 

How he managed to not speak with her for four days he doesn’t know, the weight of the four days, the distance those four days created between them was emphasized as he traversed the road leading to her house. The wench opened the door and he saw Sansa hurriedly hiding herself into the kitchen while Brienne stood by the door looking like she was about to shut it in his face.

“Are you angry with me?” Jaime took her hand and cradled it in his own bigger ones and rubbed the soft skin of her wrist with his thumb. He felt the involuntary shivering in her skin and she quickly pulled away, eyes almost purple in the receding light.

“No Jaime.”

“You aren’t.”

She nodded, easing slightly away from the door, stepping out to face him. She closed the door behind her with a soft thud and Jaime took a step back to allow her some room. He disregarded that little voice in his head saying she could have just invited him in but she didn’t.

“But you weren’t answering my calls.”

“I was busy.”

“Busy?” his brow arched, bitter words asking if she was busy playing nanny with Renly splayed at the tip of his tongue.

“Work. I couldn’t even give Sansa a proper tour. And she’s leaving tomorrow.”

“But you aren’t angry with me?”

“I’m not.” She took a step back, opening the door slightly. “Now go home. Let’s talk when we both have time.”

“I have time. You don’t. You don’t give me time.” The words were out of his mouth in an instant and he saw Brienne’s face scrunched in displeasure.

“What more do you need? Haven’t I been giving you enough time?” Her eyes were wide with indignation, mouth upturned as if she was trying so hard not to cry. “I don’t even know why I should give you time.” The last words were said almost like a whisper, her breath creating a puff of frozen air between them.

He knew there was probably more written in between Brienne’s words though try as hard as he might he seemed unable to fathom what it was. He must have hurt her more than he thought he had and the righteous anger in her eyes was enough proof that he apparently had. Brienne was a strong woman but she did look like she was about to tear up and his pride was telling him to push her further just to see her cry, to be that person who would see her cry, not Renly, but him, and he wanted to push her and push her because it was only _fair_ that she would feel the same way, a fair compensation for how she made him feel that night when she chose Renly over him.

“Just go back to Cersei.”

He was slow to recover and the minute an epiphany rose to stare him in the face, Brienne had moved behind the door, the wooden frame the only thing separating them, but never in that moment had a door created such a wide chasm between them, threatening to swallow them whole and spit them out in different flesh, living different lives, away from each other as if they never belonged (in all sense of the word) to each other once. The distance becoming wider as he slipped in his car, revved the engine and drove miles away from where she was. But the epiphany had him doubling back, it was not often that he would get these kinds of things, Tyrion was the one with the most realizations. Brienne’s words ran all over him like honey and the possibility that she was jealous had him almost smiling despite the rush of adrenaline caused by anger. He would have driven back but he knew Brienne was still angry with him and anger would only cloud their minds, judgments and feelings and he knew he would have to put it off for tomorrow, maybe by tomorrow they could both make time, and sit and talk down and discuss his jealousies and her jealousies and admit to each other that there was categorically no reason to be jealous in the first place.

 

 

Jaime decided to leave despite the alarming number of unread messages in his mailbox. He left tasks for Ilyn and the man didn’t seem to mind (or he just doesn’t talk that much). He was working with Baelish’s secretary, a busty redhead called Ros who couldn’t seem to stop touching his arm and all other parts of him within reach. He wondered if Brienne would get jealous over Ros as well, and he was briefly reminded of how the wench treated Pia’s flirtations with him rather indifferently. Though that was a year ago and their relationship had evolved into something in which jealousies were deemed normal and in some ways needed. He thought of introducing Ros to Brienne and realized he wouldn’t risk himself, Brienne’s anger was a force to be reckoned with, and besides they have been spending the better part of the New Year mad at each other. He chuckled to himself as he made his way to the parking lot, the lot almost empty save for some vehicles. He knew Brienne would be taking Sansa to the airport (he figured the flight must have been sometime in the afternoon since the last flight out was before 5 PM) so he decided to give her the morning and the afternoon and even the early evening, after all, after tonight, he wouldn’t allow her a respite from him. He almost felt excited at the thought.

He unlocked the door, the sounds dispelled in the expanse of the driveway, the overhead lights bouncing against the dark. He had driven to a little pastry shop he knew the wench frequented. Brienne’s tough demeanor notwithstanding, her taste for sweets was made evident whenever they got together for lunch or dinner so he made it his task to bring her sweet snacks whenever he slept over (which was often if not always). He bought something for the wench, a quiche he knew she rather liked. He would offer it to her as some sort of an apology and then himself as an offering to placate her, on the condition that she make a similar offering (herself). He could think of all possible ways of using the pastry and he hoped the wench wouldn’t mind, an image of her blushing and flushing and furious at his suggestions causing him to chuckle by himself.

“Looking good Lannister.”

The slurred voice had him looking up, the door to the passenger seat of his car open as he arranged the packed pastries. It was a man named Locke, a former employee of his father who was sacked three months ago for setting up some scam. Jaime stood up, leaning against one leg and slipped his hands on either pocket of his jeans. “Locke isn’t it?”

“You do me the honor of remembering.” He swayed on his feet, obviously drunk and thirsty for something else.

“I’m good with remembering things. Even useless ones.” He cocked his head to the side.

The man turned his head to every which way, a nod, a tilt of his chin, and in an instant Jaime knew he was surrounded. He took a step back, a hand reaching for the door of his car. He could fight he knew, but there were too many of them even though most of them were probably drunk but he would not be brought down without a fight. Jaime stood looking at each and every face, faces he knew he must have seen in some Lannister building once or twice and he knew they have come to collect their payments.

“What is it you Lannisters say? ‘A Lannister always pays his debts’ so we’ve come to collect.” There was a chuckle from his left and then a sudden movement had him careening, his arms automatically shooting up to protect himself, blows exchanged, a grunt in his left and he knew he caught one, another and two were down. He was heaving when he managed to stand up on his legs, a hook on his ribs causing him to cough.

“Very well. We’ll send your father your body in a body bag, hacked to pieces but properly tagged.” Locke laughed, his voice echoing, the men closing in on him. There was the scent of alcohol in the air and Jaime thought it was a cruel way to die, to die when he hadn’t talked with the wench yet, when all that was left between them were hurtful words and stale air and he knew he would have to survive this, or die trying.

A fist ended on his belly, the force had him doubling over, blood from his mouth and there were more blows, though he did manage to slip a couple of punches to buy himself time, to prolong this, just in time for some vehicle, the roving city guards, someone to pass and find out. These were drunken men, unthinking, they have probably been drinking and discussing Tywin Lannister’s downfall when they thought of getting back at his children and Jaime was the easiest to find. They have not probably thought it all through and Jaime hoped someone would hear the commotion.

“The hand. I want it off first.”

Jaime’s eyes widened, almost unable to see with blood dripping from a cut he sustained above his eyes. He clenched his bloody fists, grunting and pushing as the men held him down. His right hand was losing feeling as the men continued to pummel it against the side of his car, now bloody and finger bones shattered. A knife glinting in the low light had his stomach clenching and he tried to fight back but he was overpowered. He knew he muttered a guttural no but the word was left unheard.

“Do it.”

There was a sharp stinging pain as the knife puckered his flesh, little deep cuts that had him crying out in agony, a slow torture as the knife cut through flesh and veins, blood sputtering. A vehicle passed, lights flooding the driveway, the loud buzzing of horn breaking the sinister sound of his own blood pounding in his head, his world spinning behind his eyes as he was suddenly forced loose from the grip of the men, Locke’s men scrambling to get away but not before he saw them breaking the windows and tearing the engine from his car, their images receding and receding in the dark and the wailing of the horn louder and fainter in his head as the light from the passing vehicle disappeared with the darkness. He forced himself to get up then, strength draining from his body, the stench of blood strong in his nostrils and he felt the intense urge to puke. He took a step, falling on his knees, forced himself up, his right hand unfeeling and bloody and torn and unrecognizable, a red mass of flesh and broken bones and torn veins. He dragged himself, the dark empty road beckoning to him, words in his head chanting one thing. One name.

_Brienne. Brienne. Brienne._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say this chapter would be posted quickly. It was quite hard to write honestly. Expect some more, I'm hoping to have all these hard stuff out in the next two chapters so we can all be lovey-dovey once again at a new location *wink *wink. BTW, I used Locke here since Hoat's lisp wouldn't have fit well. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are love. Chapter inspired by Gabrielle Aplin's Mountains.
> 
> Cause you're a mountain  
> I can't climb yet  
> And I'm a painting  
> But you're blinded.


	12. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had never gotten enough sleep and her body was tired but her mind was wide awake, replaying and replaying the night before, hoping it was all a dream, a nightmare, that she would wake up from and everything would be back to the way it was.

Brienne woke to the feel of a familiar press of warmth on her side. Her initial thought was Jaime and it was odd how the idea that he must have snuck in again using her hidden spare key was alright with her, regardless of her anger at Jaime’s indignant treatment of her in the past week. She had treated him rather coldly she knew, she was mad though she has no right to be, but she wanted him to know that she was, besides, it was unfair that she was the only one being bothered by all those things between them.

“Brienne.”

Her eyes opened wide, the sudden stench of blood assailing her nostrils, noting how clammy he was under her touch and she quickly turned the bedside lamp on, Jaime, bloody and dishevelled, a trickle of blood above his half-lidded eye, his nose broken, bruises blooming on his face and shirt torn. She was quickly on her feet, grabbing a jacket, slipping it on, her heart slamming in her ribcage as she noted, in the semi-darkness, how this Jaime was nothing like her Jaime at all, a need to ask what happened, who did this to him, why him, all on the tip of her tongue when she pulled him up, cursing and cursing him why the seven hells didn’t he go to the hospital instead.

“You are angry with me.”

“Gods Jaime!” She swallowed back the tears in her eyes, hauling him up and guiding him out as she hailed a cab, the drops of blood on her door and the brick where she kept the key stark red in the waning light of the street lamps and she wondered how long it took Jaime to get the key inside the keyhole. She put him in a cab, pulling him against her in the backseat, her arm around his shoulders as she told him not to sleep, to keep his eyes open, knowing how dangerous it  was if he as much as drift off for a second. “Stay with me Jaime.”

His eyes drifted close, his head lulling to one side and Brienne felt the trickle of blood against her lap. She looked down, at the arm she was clasping on her pyjama-clad thighs, not really noticing it first as a whirlwind of fears assailed her upon seeing blood on Jaime’s face, her heart climbing to her throat as she saw it bleeding, the faint light inside the cab not providing her enough light to see. She feared what she would see, tears stinging the corners of her eyes as she shook him awake, his name falling from her lips like a prayer, for salvation, in desperation.

The nurses rushed him to emergency as the cab pulled up, Brienne seeing the contrast of his red _red_ hand against the white façade of the hospital, his right hand a terrible painting of blood and gore, shocking in the sudden bright light and she felt her insides churning, a weakening punch to her gut and she swiped the angry tears that fell loose from her tight grasp, from her need to be strong. She reached for him as they lay him on a gurney, his eyes closed, forehead scrunched, in pain and no, no don’t leave, stay awake and stay, _stay Jaime_ , and she followed, her feet almost tripping over themselves as she followed him in a curtained partition in the emergency area. The scent of antiseptics barraged her senses, her eyes, ears, nose and mouth and she felt unable to breath, unable to see and she wanted Jaime to get up, tell her it was all a joke and she would tell him she was not angry anymore and could they just go home now? But Jaime didn’t move, his right hand as if beckoning her to look and she crossed her arms, afraid to touch him, lest he dissolve into something unable to be reached and touched anymore.

The doctor on duty provided him with sedatives and he drifted on and off to unconsciousness, his movements all involuntary and they had to tie him down by his feet because his unconscious self kept twitching and twitching and vomiting and vomiting. It was the shock the doctor said and some other medical terms that had her head spinning. The doctor informed her he had sustained some internal wounds from the beating, shock to some organs making Jaime respond in such a fashion. The nurses kept cleaning the vomit as Jaime listlessly moved in his gurney, the sedatives rendering him more dead than awake, his left hand curling very tight around her offered hand. She squeezed it back and murmured words for him but the nurses told her he would not hear her because he was semi-conscious. She helped clean his vomit as they waited for some results, his right hand being cleaned slowly, and seeing it cleared of blood had her almost heaving a sigh of relief until she saw the devastatingly huge gash on his wrist, a red greedy mouth of pain, veins torn and flesh puckered, the gash terribly cruel in the ugly uneven slash marks of whatever small and blunt item used to tear the skin and veins. The pain must have been violent, the slow peeling of skin, layer by layer, digging through flesh and muscles to tore haphazardly at the veins, leaving his right hand _half_ _there_.

The nurses stripped him of his clothes and put him in a hospital gown, Brienne helping by turning him on his side as they tie the back of the hideous white cloth. His hold on her hand grew slack and she quickly called for a nurse, asked if everything was alright, if it was alright for him to sleep, if they were doing something, anything, to make sure he was going to be alright, her tone rising and rising until one of the nurses touched her on her arm. She asked whenever someone came to give him something—an injected medicine through his IV, stitching his open wounds—or to get something from him, blood, urine when he was put on catheter, just to placate herself with the knowledge that they were doing something, something, anything, to bring Jaime back to her. She almost cried then but Jaime was there and she wouldn’t want to be weak, so she stayed by him, his left hand encased in her hands, just standing there by his side, watching him be listless when the doctor informed her that apart from the shock received by some of his organs, the worst part was his right hand.

“What do you mean?”

Brienne knew, even without words, what it all meant. It meant that his right hand would have to be amputated, she would have to be blind not to know, even someone as her without prior knowledge of anything remotely medicine-related would know that his hand would have to be cut off. But Brienne refused, asking, pleading, to let him keep his hand for there must be something that could be done, not that, not his hand, not Jaime _please._

“Please.”

Jaime was transferred to the intensive care unit and Brienne had to stay outside. She paced back and forth, arms folded across as she dialled and dialled Tyrion’s number. Tysha eventually responded saying Tyrion was in Braavos and wouldn’t be back until next week but that she would inform him. Tysha offered to come down and see her at the hospital, but Brienne said she would not need to, calling at such an improper hour has bothered her besides, and instead requested the contact numbers of Jaime’s other relatives. She tried to call but no one responded so she sent text messages instead and hoped they would get them.

 

 

Brienne didn’t know she had fallen asleep on the hard cold metal chairs outside the ICU when a nurse woke her up and informed her Jaime would have to spend until tomorrow at the intensive care. She paced the hallways listlessly, refusing to sit down again lest she fall asleep. She watched as people came and went, the smell of antiseptics rendering her numb and she knew she had never felt so tired in her entire life. It was midday of the following day when the nurse advised her to go home and get some things Jaime might need as he would be transferred to a room by late afternoon. So she went home reluctantly (telling the nurse Jaime has no one who would look after him if she went home), showered, changed clothes, packed some of Jaime’s things in a weekend bag, as well as some of hers. As soon as she was back a nurse informed her they were preparing Jaime to be transferred and that he had stabilized but he hasn’t woken up yet. She followed the nurse inside the ICU, but not before washing and putting a mask and a hair cap on. She tentatively walked to Jaime’s bed, saw him asleep, looking less bloody than earlier, an oxygen mask on his face, his hand wrapped in pristine white bandages.

“We’ll be putting him on the fifth floor.”

She turned, saw the nurse who touched her arm last night to placate her and read the words Sam Tarly on his nameplate. She nodded, trailed after as Sam Tarly and another nurse began pushing Jaime’s bed towards the elevator.

“His vitals have stabilized. Your husband will be fine.”

Brienne reached out a hand to touch Jaime’s hair. She wanted to correct the young man but she felt drained, so drained and she wanted to pull Jaime into her and wake him up and hear him tease her, so she only nodded, this, like this, it doesn’t get any more married than this and she nodded again, whether to assure the nurse she heard him or whether to assure herself Jaime would be alright she doesn’t know.

They were led to a room on the fifth floor, near the nurse’s station and Jaime was carefully transferred onto a bigger bed. The doctor came while the nurses gave her some instructions, reminders to call for the nurse’s station if something goes amiss, there was a call button on the headboard they said and Brienne nodded, trying to take it all in. The doctor told her he was stable, no dangerous bleeding internally, and that they would not amputate his hand, not yet, he would be under observation. The doctor told her of two possible scenarios; first, if the wound wouldn’t heal and fester, it would have to be cut off or; second, if his hand would heal well, an amputation would not be necessary, but that it would most probably be almost as good as dead, they could do therapy but his hand would never be the same.

When she was finally left alone with Jaime she felt tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. She had never gotten enough sleep and her body was tired but her mind was wide awake, replaying and replaying the night before, hoping it was all a dream, a nightmare, that she would wake up from and everything would be back to the way it was.

 

 

The first words out of Jaime’s mouth when he finally woke up two days after since she brought him to the hospital was her name and she stood petrified, looking at him, her head turning back and forth to stare at the heart monitor, at him, to the IV drip, until she stood up and pressed the nurse’s call button. Jaime gave her no indication he was going to speak anytime soon again, his half-lidded eyes trying to keep awake, adjusting to the bright light when he tried to move his hand and his eyes strayed to look at his bandaged right hand. Brienne quickly scrambled to him, placing both hands on his shoulders to coax him back on the bed, his green eyes now wide with question as to why he couldn’t feel his hand, those green eyes causing a heavy feeling to settle on her stomach and she tried not to cry, not now when Jaime could see her.

A nurse came in, asked her why and she beckoned to Jaime, now awake but still so not like her healthy, usual, teasing Jaime. The nurse checked his vitals, while Jaime continued looking at her, his eyes questioning everything and he extended his good hand to reach for her which she took. The nurse informed her everything was alright but that a doctor will look at him, at his hand, and Brienne only nodded, her eyes not leaving Jaime’s and when the door closed with a click signalling the nurse’s departure, she bent down to kiss Jaime on the forehead, a move which she hadn’t thought about. Jaime’s left hand snaked about her waist and she stayed there, his warmth seeping into hers and informing her he was alive and there, there, awake and safe and there.

The doctor was immediately came with the nurse Sam Tarly and he took time looking at Jaime’s hand, unwrapping bandages. It looked better than the first time she saw it, the wound had been regularly cleaned during the last two days and the wound had closed but the stitches were still red and raw. Jaime’s eyes had never looked so dull in that moment, so glassy as when the doctor explained that fortunately an amputation would not be necessary, launching however to a detailed explanation of how certain veins had been affected that would greatly impair the motor skills of his right hand, not sparing Jaime the knowledge that his hand would never be the same again. Upon seeing the look of despair crossing Jaime’s face, Brienne quickly proffered physiotherapy.

“Yes,” the doctor said, they would have to do it but there were veins that could never be brought back. Jaime nodded, and Brienne wondered if he understood all of it, the doctor leaving after a firm pat on Jaime’s shoulders, a squeeze on Brienne’s hand and she felt the enormity of the situation, the weight of what Jaime would have to face, the changes this would be bringing him, and her.

She asked him if he wanted to eat but he only shook his head, a flicker of recognition absent in his eyes and he only stared at his hand, and kept silent. Brienne thought he would like to have some time alone so she told him, in a voice that she hoped did not quiver, that she would get something to eat and that there was water on his bedside table if he would become thirsty.

Jaime was still looking at his hand when she came back and she offered him something to eat, bread, fruits, pastries, porridge (she passed by the nurse’s station and asked if Jaime was allowed to eat solid food already and Sam Tarly gave her a positive nod and a smile which she returned), anything but Jaime kept looking at his hand, never at her, his green eyes lacklustre and she knew he was moving far away from her.

“What are you doing Jaime?”

He gave her a slight shrug and she walked to him, tears threatening the corners of her eyes and she pursed her lips. Jaime never looked at her, face looking hollow and pale, dark circles in his eyes, bruises, wounds and she wondered why those up there, whatever was up there, failed to bring him back completely. _Don’t leave._

“Are you a coward?”

His head automatically lifted to meet her eyes, a glint of something in there which caused a fire to run through her skin and ignite the words in her mouth.

“Are you a quitter? Just a wound and you’re already retreating?”

“It is not just a wound.”

“It is a wound. A scar and nothing more. You’ll survive it. You get a taste of real life where nothing is fair and you act like this? Live Jaime.”

His eyes were angry, but anger was good, anger was better and she took another step towards him, eyes not leaving his.

“Live. Live Jaime. Stay with me.”

He gritted his teeth, eyes green and bright and burning and he immediately snatched a piece of bread she offered earlier and put it into his mouth, swallowing hard, mouth quivering very slightly. She pulled a chair beside him and offered him water which he took and his eyes met hers and he nodded briefly. She smiled, a terse little smile and she let her hand wander to touch his arm and when she made a move to extricate it, his left hand reached out to rest on it, twining their fingers together. _Live. Stay with me._

 

 

Tyrion was there the following day and he apologized, he said he could not get a flight earlier than that day and he went as soon as he arrived at the King’s Landing airport to the precinct to follow up on the report Brienne filed. Tyrion had gotten back to her as soon as he learned the news from Tysha and kept in contact while in Braavos. Jaime had previously told her about what happened during his run-in with a man named Locke and Brienne took it upon herself to file a report after which she called his younger brother. Tyrion, from Braavos, pulled strings to expedite the case.

Jaime nodded at him, gave him a wry smile and Brienne left to get the two of them something to eat. When she came back Tyrion was sitting on a stool, telling a story animatedly and Jaime was laughing. Brienne smiled at the sound of mirth and she stood by the door and contented herself with watching their dynamic, watching Jaime being brought back to life when Tyrion saw her and beckoned her to come. He informed her some city guards would be coming that afternoon to get Jaime’s statement. She looked at Jaime and he nodded at her.

Later that day the city guards arrived and she and Tyrion left the room. They stayed outside, Brienne watching the closed door, wanting to step in and stand by Jaime’s bedside when Tyrion touched her arm, a tender smile on his lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she avoided his eyes. Tyrion seemed to know all the things in her head and she sometimes felt a little intimidated by him though she doesn’t really mind, he was the only Lannister who seemed to care for Jaime besides.

“For this. Taking care of him. Not leaving him. He’s lucky to have you.”

She didn’t speak, words dying in her mouth. She looked at Tyrion then, willing herself to not be afraid of his mind reading and she nodded, both to him and to herself, affirming that she would never leave Jaime, that he would have her for as long as he would like, that she would stay as long as he would need her.

Tyrion smiled, a sincere kind of smile that reminded her so much of Jaime and she only shrugged, the doors opening to have the city guards pouring out. They told her that with the official statement now filed, they would take the appropriate actions and that they would update them of any developments.

 

 

Cersei came some two days after. Therapy hasn’t started yet, Jaime’s hand would have to be better than it was before they could proceed for the wounds haven’t completely dried and healed. Cersei was beautiful and ethereal when she walked in, a permanent frown on her face, the frown etching deeper into her ivory skin when she spotted Brienne, her nose scrunching in displeasure after seeing the puckered skin of Jaime’s right hand, the scars ugly and marooning. Brienne wanted to leave but Jaime held her hand, keeping her to his place but she slowly extricated her hand from his grip and told him wordlessly that he would have to talk to his stepsister, that she would be outside in case he would have need of her, and that she would wait, just wait outside until Cersei would leave.

She sat outside, time seeming to pass in slow slow motion as she heard voices, the sudden raising of tone (Cersei’s), Jaime’s dry laugh and she knew it would be a while. She took the elevator to the billing window, checking if Jaime’s insurance covered everything; she then made a quick call to Catelyn and informed her of Jaime’s health. She also called Sansa and she remembered how the redhead offered to fly from the Vale to take shifts with her watching over Jaime but Brienne knew she was busy with her internship so she refused but thanked her profusely. Sansa said she was happy for her, not the accident with Jaime’s hand of course, but for having Jaime and Jaime was fortunate to have someone like her around and the redhead reminded her of what she was worth and that if Jaime tried to hurt her she, together with all the Starks, promised to hunt him down.

She walked back to stand and wait outside Jaime’s room when she finished her calls and the door opened to reveal an very angry Cersei. She shot her a disgusted look and without so much as a goodbye she fled, her skirts billowing behind her. Brienne stood by the door, half-closed and half-opened and watched Jaime took a deep breath after another. His eyes met hers and he smiled, his features relaxing.

“Come here and close the door.”

She followed, the door closing behind her with a click. He beckoned to the side of the bed which had her arching a brow. He only grinned but patted the space beside him and she took a seat, easing herself in the limited space. He was so near, the nearest since the accident and Brienne felt him more alive than ever.

“Let me hug you wench.”

She nodded and let herself be pulled into a hug, both his hands wrapping around her waist, her back, pulling her closer and closer.

“You can sleep on the bed. Surely your legs must be sore from that cramped little sofa bed.”

“This bed’s too small.”

He smiled against her neck. “I’ll make room for you.”

“Jaime.”

“Or I’ll request a bigger bed. Wives are allowed to share hospital beds with their husbands after giving birth.”

“You didn’t conceive Jaime. And I’m not your husband.” She raised a brow at the incredulous statement but nevertheless smiled.

He chuckled. “You are the husband. You’re bigger than me.”

She laughed despite the crude joke. His left hand skimmed the edge of her shirt and slipped up inside, followed suit by his bandaged hand. Her first thought was whether it was alright for him to move his hand when she felt the rough cloth of his bandages against her naked waist. “What are you doing?”

He sniffed against her neck. “Hmm…checking if I can still feel with my other hand.”

She pinched him on his left arm which made him wince. She snorted, her hands skimming his sides to return the hug, her fingers reaching for the blond hair that was now longer than usual. His beard scratched against the side of her neck.

“Brienne.”

“Jaime?”

His hold tightened, his left palm warm against her skin. “Happy New Year.”

It had been weeks since the New Year’s Eve party at Baelish yet weeks seemed to have been months and years and Brienne could not help the little swell of emotions in her heart, a constant sting in the corners of her eyes. She pursed her lips, forcing the tears back, she felt relieved, Jaime was with her and he was safe and he was alive. “Happy New Year.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I miscalculated the number of chapters for KL. Some two more I think and then we all can be back to how we were, UST and fluff and bright and sunny. I'm moving to a different country to attend grad school first week of October so I'm trying to finish as much chapters before my routine is disrupted (and my muse flees). 
> 
> Chapter inspired by Gabrielle Aplin's Alive. Kudos and comments are love.
> 
> And I realise  
> You have to feel alive  
> And all your worries will escape through the door  
> And you'll wake up all alone on the floor  
> It's not too late  
> Just rely on me now


	13. Hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To say that Jaime was shocked with the news was a bit of an understatement, besides, Tywin Lannister is that kind of weather-beaten man who would not back down, not surrender even to the Stranger himself.

It was after a month of physiotherapy when Tywin Lannister died. The news reached Jaime rather late, he was at his office, doing some necessary overtime, papers overflowing on his desk. He had wanted to call the wench and was contemplating on doing so, flipping his phone in his hand (pestering her ridiculously late at night whenever he was doing overtime work was becoming a habit) when Tyrion called and informed him that their father has died.

To say that Jaime was shocked with the news was a bit of an understatement, besides, Tywin Lannister is that kind of weather-beaten man who would not back down, not surrender even to the Stranger himself. Knowing that he was dead did put certain things into perspective, the Lannister mogul was still a man and a mortal besides, and everyone, even him, could be taken from this world in an instant. Jaime knew that if his father were given a chance to choose the method of his death he would have probably chosen something more dramatic than a car accident. There was no foul play, the city guards informed them, it was an accident and nothing more. Perhaps Tywin would have wanted a more flamboyant way to die, he was a Lannister besides, and even in death perhaps he would have wanted to show people how important he was. He was probably stirring in his grave knowing that the cause of his death was a mere slip-up on his part.

Jaime kept watch for three days, taking short naps in between. Cersei was nowhere in sight, Tyrion informed him she flew to the Stormlands with Robert Baratheon when the Redwyne appeal was dismissed. Jaime thought her stepsister would file another appeal and bring it to the highest court but surprisingly she didn’t and instead dropped it like a hot brick and snuggled with the eldest Baratheon instead. Jaime thought he could care less though surprisingly there was still a pang of that something when the words flowed from Tyrion’s mouth. He would’ve wanted to be unaffected, he would have wanted to be whole for the wench, but he guessed there were no such things as clean breaks, as starting from scratch, after all, pencil marks are retained even after erasing every line, every curve, every point on paper.

He called the wench once to inform her of the news and she offered to come down to help (whatever help was needed), he was still recovering besides, but he refused her, not wanting to bring her to the Lannister arena, not yet, not yet when he hadn’t told her what he wanted to do to her, with her, besides, he wanted to inform her of the many things about him first, and he wanted to get back on his feet before he offer to start something with her. Locke and his men were apprehended the same week and he had never seen Brienne so strung up the moment the city guards informed them they have taken the assailants into custody. He had to touch her hand just to make her expel the breath she was holding. He was starting to feel the changes bit by bit, his right hand was his dominant hand after all, but the wench had been helping him all along, accompanying him to therapy, letting him sleep over; it was nice, being taken cared of, though frustration was always there so close underneath the surface and he wasn’t so sure this is the Jaime he wanted to offer her. Besides, she deserved the best.

On the sixth day of his vigil Cersei finally came. The last time he saw her was at the hospital when she looked disgustedly at his ugly right hand, skin puckered and scabbed, scars raw and red then, and words as blunt as the knife used to injure his hand had flowed from her mouth like poison and Jaime had never been that wide-eyed, as if with the almost-loss of his right hand came hurling the realization that he was being blinded all those times by Cersei’s golden phantom, that it was not Cersei all along whom he was in love with, it was only an idea of her, a perfect version of her in his head. So he laughed at her, laughed at the realization, at his stupidity, at his folly, at his fortune for understanding it now _finally_ and just laughed and laughed until she had stomped away angrily.

“He was not a good man anyway.”

Jaime’s eyes scanned her face, beautiful in the orange light of the candles, the semi-darkness rendering her a crueller look. “He is our father.”

“Was. He _was_ my father in all sense of the word.”

He knew she resented him. Cersei has all the reasons to resent Tywin—forcing her to marry, threatening to disown her if she refused, running her life as if she was a puppet and he a ventriloquist—and Jaime understood but Tywin was still their father, even if she was adopted.

“He treated me like a fool.”

 _Yes, but you_ are _a fool sweet sister_ , though the words never left his mouth.

“Someday all that will be remembered of him was that he was my adoptive father. Cersei’s adoptive father.”

Jaime looked at Tywin, his body bloated in the casket. If left to him, Jaime would have opted to have him cremated, but his last will and testament informed them he wanted to be buried.

“He’s no great man.”

Jaime ran his finger along the seams of the casket.

“So are you dear brother.”

He ignored her, sleep wanting to claim him. He knew he was sad, yet there was an empty feeling in him, he could have been indifferent for all he knew but he was trying to convince himself he was devastated with the death of his father, Tywin was his father after all, and it was natural to be devastated, and unnatural to be otherwise.

“The loss of your hand made you a weak man Jaime.”

His head shot up, eyes meeting hers in an instant and anger sprouted in his chest, all her unfaithfulness on the tip of his tongue, but he held himself, not wanting to create a scene. He stepped back, beckoned to Tyrion. Cersei shot the latter a dirty look when he approached.

“I need to go _home_ brother.”

Tyrion nodded, a flicker of understanding in his eye and he nodded. Jaime turned and saw Cersei’s face turning red, redder than the Lannister colors.

 

 

It was past midnight when he knocked on Brienne’s front door. She was looking tired and Jaime knew he had woken her from sleep, though her sleep was probably unintended on her part, working until the wee hours of the morning, falling in and out of hazy sleep and Jaime felt a rush of warmth when she opened the door wider and beckoned him to come inside. He sat on the couch, the wench offering to provide him anything to eat and drink and he shook his head, extending his hand to reach for her and pull her closer, to press his face against her stomach, breath released in a puff of air.

“You alright?”

“Tomorrow’s the last day.”

“You look tired.” She ruffled his hair and Jaime smiled against the cloth of her shirt.

“So do you. Go back to bed Brienne.” He pulled himself away from her and watched as she went back to her bedroom to fetch him pillows, a blanket and a shirt to change in. He walked to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth as Brienne handed him a shirt. He watched as the blond girl fluffed the pillows and laid it out on the couch, his made-up bed never having looked so inviting until then. He would have to bring the wench to the burial, at least it can never be said that he did not introduce her to his father, though a proper introduction it would not be. He placed a hand on the small of her back as she bent down to put a blanket on top of the pillows. 

 “Good night Jaime.”

He wanted to pull her then, or invite himself to her bed and he knew if he asked her of it the wench would not deny him, she was good that way, always ready to give without expecting anything in return. But he knew he was not ready for that, at least not yet, not as ready as he was weeks ago before the accident with his hand. He had wanted her so much, even much now, but he was not yet enough, not like this, with so many things happening all at once.

Brienne switched on the lamp beside the couch, turning off all other lights as she passed by, her bedroom door closing with a soft thud. Jaime closed his eyes, the sound of her door closing reverberating in him, thrumming and beckoning, making him forget everything, his father, Cersei, only Brienne. _Brienne._

 

 

He woke up to the feel of a hand over his knee. He knew he was dreaming, of his father, of Cersei, he knew it was a dream and he knew that in his dream he had wanted to wake up, but Cersei was cloying his vision with her fragrance and presence and he felt suffocated until a touch on his knee gradually pulled him awake. His eyes shot up, adjusting to the dark, finding Brienne by his feet. He reached a hand, putting it over her own that was touching his knee, she felt her shudder slowly, eyes blinking, matching his, seeking his and she stifled a yawn with her free hand. She must have been there for a while and she had fallen asleep.

“Brienne.”

“You were…dreaming…talking in your sleep…A nightmare or something…”

He extended his good hand, and smiled as she tentatively took it, her eyes searching his face in the darkness as he scooted to make room for her on the narrow couch. The darkness made him bolder, the dark hiding all his insecurities, all his want to provide something better for her and she furrowed her brows in response but he insisted, it was dark after all and he wanted her.

“We won’t fit.”

“We will. Hop in.”

She scrunched her nose but nevertheless did so, her body warm and tender against him, her arms allowing him to slip his arm still in cast around her waist, his hair pressed to her nape. She fitted herself tentatively to the little space Jaime made for her, her breath steadying as he lifted his heavy arm, cast snug against her, the fit better and more secure and Jaime relaxed.

“What was I saying?”

She shrugged, pulling the blankets tighter around the two of them, her cold toes seeking his warm ones. Jaime wrapped one ankle around hers and wound his arm tighter against her middle, pulling her closer, yet gentler so as to not force the cast against her flesh. Brienne was strong but her skin was surprisingly soft and warm and Jaime wanted to snuggle closer though he did not push on further because he knew she would let him, knowing the wench was prone to making irrational decisions too, decisions based on certain feelings such as compassion, honor and something he would have termed as love if not for his disillusionment with his stepsister. He remembered the look on Brienne’s face the day he finally woke up, her eyes swimming, blue and light and drowning in worry, her face a painting of emotions. Her eyes steeled the moment she knew he was giving up and she brought him back, him wondering how on earth he would be able to return such a debt to this wench. Perhaps swearing his faithfulness to her would be a start, yet he knew the wench would never ask him of that, he wondered now if she would even want that if he was to freely offer it, she was stubborn and a fool sometimes, the goodness in her heart clouding her vision and he sometimes felt too little, too tainted, too old besides. “Unintelligible things. But you usually say unintelligible things even when awake.”

He smiled against her nape, a chuckle escaping his throat though it was feeling raw. He wanted to tell her everything, every little information about himself, about the Lannister in Jaime, about the son in Jaime, the brother in Jaime, the lover in Jaime, every little puzzle piece about him he wanted to share with her, the Jaime with her, the Jaime without her and he wanted her to know the pieces aside from the whole, and to understand that his entirety along with all the little pieces of him is more than a name, that his whole is more than the sum of his parts. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I’ll try to be intelligible tomorrow.”

“You don’t need to if you don’t want to.”

He let his lips touch the skin of her nape. “I want to.”

She touched the cast around her waist, her palm warm and comforting and an anchor to him. She ran her fingers along the hard plaster of the cast. “Alright. Sleep now Jaime.”

 

 

She was preparing breakfast when he woke up. The space on the couch where she had slept was still warm and he took some time burying his face in the dissolving warmth. Stretching languidly, he sat up, folded the blankets and left them on a neat pile on the couch and padded to the kitchen where Brienne was putting eggs on a pair of plates. “Morning.”

“Morning.” He pulled her into an embrace which quickly earned him a hiss and a light punch and he chuckled, mind still hazy from sleep. She pushed him a little and forced him to sit down and handed him a plate. He pulled her again, face against her back and she cursed him, forcing him to disentangle himself from her but failing at it.

“Jaime. Your coffee’s getting cold.”

He looked up, the view of her broad back inviting. He reluctantly let her go, and chuckled some more and watched with sleep-heavy eyes as she placed a mug of coffee in front of him. “So you ready to talk?”

She only took a seat across from him in response. Her own mug was encased in her hands, an encouraging, a challenging look in her blue eyes, eyes that did not leave him even as she brought her mug to her lips.

So he told her, everything, every little story, from when he was a young boy at Casterly Rock, playing hide and seek in the crags, coming home with soot and snot on his face, golden hair tumbling on his shoulders, his beautiful mother tending to his knee scrapes and bruises and cuts, scolding him not to climb the craggy cliffs again to which Brienne remarked, “You don’t seem to be much different now.”

He laughed then but his stories took a turn, beginning with the birth of Tyrion and the death of his mother and he told her of how he and Tyrion had been, same but different, how he spent days with his little brother, Tyrion reading aloud to him while he scaled bookshelves and walls, letters hurt his eyes he said, he had been jumbling letters since he was a kid so he decided he liked numbers more and Tyrion could read better and he listened to his little brother’s stories while he played at his games. It was just the two of them for a time until Cersei came. “She looked like my mother.”

Brienne nodded and urged him to continue and he told her of that time Cersei crept into his room, the time they began what it was that developed between them, the days blurring, everything changing, his focus becoming only on Cersei and Cersei and he told Brienne of how he thought of Cersei as that missing part of the whole (until he knew that the whole can be made better, that there’s no need to be incomplete, that what he needed was not someone to complete him, but someone complete on her own that will make him acknowledge what he lacked and let him complete himself on his own). He wanted to tell Brienne it was now over between him and Cersei, but he was not sure if it being over was all in his head, he was reminded of that bitter feeling in his chest upon knowing Cersei shacked up with the eldest Baratheon. He wanted Brienne to know but he doubted she would believe it was now over, or at least over in his mind, besides, by doing so it would seem as if he was asking Brienne to take him in instead and he wouldn’t want her to be a replacement of Cersei, no never a replacement, that would belittle his feelings for either of them (no matter how phantom one may have been).

So he told her instead of that time when he was doing his studies, of how his father wanted him to be this or that, the man he was destined to be (which clearly, from the tone of his father, was not what he currently was), at how he infuriated his father at every turn when all those times all he wanted, like Tyrion, was his nod of approval, his recognition which he never got. He wanted to be his father’s son, but he wanted to be more, to be different, he wanted recognition but he wanted to be _himself_ , and the name his father gave him was suffocating as it was, the expectations his father put on him was like a leash. And when he lost his hand (it was good as lost), he knew he had failed him and failure was like a noose tightening and tightening around his neck. He wanted to be better but he couldn’t now.

His tale was long and when he drew to the end he took in a deep breath, breath released in a rush of air and he realized he had never talked so much, regardless of his frequent use of his mouth for talking which usually irked the wench, and Brienne was quick to offer him water which he took. “Thank you for telling me Jaime.”

He nodded at her, light-headedness coming to him, his mouth curving into a slight smile regardless of the heaviness in his words and for the first time since he learned of his father’s death, he had come to feel the devastating grief at the loss of someone so close to him. He wiped the corners of his mouth, hands reaching to cover his eyes as tears stung, a weight lifted, all those years unspoken and hidden now drawn in words. “Thank you for listening Brienne.”

 

 

There were more people on the last day of the interment and there were more on the day of the burial and Jaime had felt the glances the people sent his arm and though there were no words he knew what was exchanged and described, besides, the meanings reside not just in the things said but more on the things left unsaid. He was anxious as the last words of the septon were said, the hole on the ground threatening to swallow everything up, sinister in its blackness and depth and Jaime slid his good hand to weave around Brienne’s big one and he squeezed. She squeezed back, eyes searching him as he positioned his arm securely under the coat he was wearing. She furrowed her brows at him and he shrugged, beckoned to the septon, telling her to listen instead of looking at him, his eyes catching Tyrion’s across the gaping hole. He sent him a nod which his little brother returned and he knew Brienne was still looking at him, at his arm and he nudged her with his shoulder, forcing her to look as the casket is lowered to the ground.

Aunt Genna was beside him. He had introduced Brienne earlier and his aunt had smiled at her and had noted how tall the former was and had looped an arm around the blond girl as she had launched into a story of how Jaime had curried the rage of Tywin Lannister when he dived off the crags of Casterly Rock. Brienne had laughed, and his aunt had joined to laugh with her, their sounds of mirth combining to make Jaime smile, regardless of Cersei’s stares and glares, regardless of the people’s stares at his arm. Aunt Genna, upon having released Brienne, had gestured to Cersei and Jaime wondered if everyone in their immediate circle knew about him and Cersei (Uncle Kevan insinuated once) and Jaime had only shaken his head, shrugged and tilted his head towards Brienne to which his aunt had replied, “She’s a nice girl. Different. In a nice way. She’s good for you.” He was way past the point of caring whether she was good for him or not (or whether they thought her good for him or not), heck he could be bad for her, but he wanted her and that was enough so he had grinned at his aunt, had nodded at her and had trailed after the wench.

Brienne had been glancing at him the entire afternoon as the last words of the septon dissolved into nothingness in the open field of the burial grounds. He looked away, tried to ignore her knowing frowns, his arm secured inside the coat and she reached to pat him on the arm, his eyes straying from the slowly-covered casket to the wench’s eyes, blue and angry and he pursed his lips at her as she went back to looking at Tywin Lannister being slowly gobbled up by the earth. He tugged at her hand, a touch meant to soothe and placate and she pointedly shifted her eyes to his covered arm.

When everything was done, his father below the earth resting in peace, Brienne pulled him to a side which surprised him and Tyrion who was coming from across the burial mound to fetch them. “What are you doing Jaime?”

He furrowed his brows, he knew what she was referring to and he only looked away, at his brother some feet away from them.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do. You are hiding.”

He gritted his teeth.

She pursed his lips, eyes searching to look at the freshly dug earth, the reminder of Tywin Lannister. “You’re your father’s son.”

“I am.”

“But you could be more. You could be better.” She looked at him, her eyes mirroring the clear blue sky. “Don’t hide Jaime. Never hide from me.”

Jaime didn’t know how long he looked at her, his arm in between them. He could be better she said, he could be more. He was amused at the faith the wench was putting in him and he felt himself proud for gaining it. He wondered briefly why he attained it in the first place, such a precious thing, her trust, and he hoped to keep it. He nodded, a wry smile on his face as he pulled her closer, everything around them melting as he enclosed her hands in his good one.

She nodded, a little flick of her blond head and he knew he would never need to hide.

“I won’t hide. Especially not from you wench.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so the update took longer than usual. I moved into a different country and settling in was kind of tiring and I wanted to put this out as soon as possible but I had not much energy these past two days. Besides, it was a bit hard to write, much much harder than the 12th and I think the next one would be even harder. After the next one let's hope we can have more fun watching these two beat around the bush. These past chapters have been rather bleak and tough so I need to have a respite, maybe a little fic sometime soon. Let's see.
> 
> As for whether there's a continuation after that night in BB, let's see, I'm plotting scenarios in my head now.
> 
> Ok, I haven't eaten real food these last two days and I hope I get to eat something tomorrow my stomach would like. Biscuits were all I've been digesting since yesterday and my back's aching from carrying my backpack around, hoping people I ask directions for would understand me, good thing they were nice and when they couldn't say directions in English they just accompany me to wherever I'm bound for. I'll go get sleep now and work on my ideas (fanfic ideas come better and easier when I'm about to sleep haha).
> 
> No song tonight. Kudos and comments are love.


	14. Finish and begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne only upturned her lips in response, not understanding what she meant, Margaery laughing coyly at her reaction. She told her she could not understand and that she was not so good with riddles and that could she speak in plainer words? Margaery insinuated the riddle would be solved the following day.

It was some two months after the death of Tywin Lannister when Cersei married Renly’s eldest brother Robert. It was also only on that day when Jaime told Brienne of it. She hadn’t known Robert that much but she knew it was a rather weird match and she watched the slowly building tension in Jaime, his jaws tightening, teeth gritting as he tried hard not to curse. She had noticed Jaime’s sullenness these past few weeks, at first she attributed it to the death of his father which had been very recent, and to his exasperation with his hand (therapy was hard and so far there were no major improvements on his motor skills) and tried to accommodate his changing moods as best as she could. But Renly called last week to tell her his brother was marrying Cersei, his meanings expressed in the lack of words thereafter, and Brienne only said yes, thank you for the information and tried to carry on as naturally as she could, while everything made sense in her head, like puzzle pieces forming a picture and she knew, knew it better, that Jaime will never forget his stepsister. He would forever be Cersei’s. She wanted Jaime to be the one to inform her, not that she was someone important, not that she _should_ know, but she would like to know, it was much about Jaime as it was about Cersei and Jaime was acting so differently Brienne was certain she wanted to know.

She eased away then, left him sitting on the couch, the telly switched on, providing a distant sound in the background as he sat so still Brienne thought it could be a picture, a picture of his grief, of his sadness, of his regret. Does he regret it then? Does he regret leaving Cersei, letting Cersei leave him? Brienne knew it would be selfish of her to think of her own grief, to wallow in self-pity, to think of herself now that Jaime was experiencing all of this—the loss of his hand, of his father, and now Cersei—though she had wanted to brandish all that she did for him like a sword in his face, had wanted to tell her he should not act so, she had been giving him all her time besides, was it not enough? But it would be foolish, foolish to expect too much from him, for clearly it was Cersei who was in his head and probably in his heart and Brienne was too big and too freckled to fit in there in the first place.

She poured herself a glass of water, butterflies and worms in her throat and bees in her eyes and she wanted to leave, just leave Jaime there and let him grieve over his regret, his love, his foolishness. She felt angry, angry that after all this, after everything that they went through these past weeks, months, he wouldn’t even consider how she would probably react to him becoming like this? But she knew she should not blame him, besides, why would he even consider, they were not more than friends after all.

She slipped into bed, sparse words reminding Jaime to turn the TV off if he wanted to sleep, voice hushed and almost a whisper, Jaime’s anger and sadness looming in from the living room and Brienne knew she was escaping, she could be harsh if she wanted to, and she knew she should not be harsh on him now. She pulled the covers around her, her door left ajar to hear what he was doing, he was prone to doing irrational things besides and he was still healing, it wouldn’t do him any good to hurt his hand again.

She stopped herself just before she could decide pulling him into bed, she shouldn’t worry about him, no, not anymore, she had been worrying about him for the better part of the year, not for herself but for him and though she wanted to tell him he should be grateful for her worry ( _I took care of you, I was beside you when no one was there for you!_ ) and _look at me_ instead, she swallowed all the lumps of harsh and righteous anger in her throat and covered herself with a blanket, tears plopping ungracefully on her pillows and she swiped them clean, angry and cursing herself for her stupidity, for her anger, for her jealousy, for her hope.

 

 

Jaime was knocking on her bedroom door when she opened her eyes. She sat up and saw his silhouette against the dark, the moonlight from the window rendering him like a phantom. She rubbed her eyes, she must have slept for some time.

“Can I come in?”

Brienne considered it all carefully in her head and though she wanted to say no just to spite him, just to get back at him, she could not stop the word yes (yes, yes please) forming in her mouth. Jaime stepped in, the click of the door ominous in its signalling of how she was giving him her space to step upon and trample on, words of caution in her head telling her no, stop him, keep him away, but her hands had extended themselves to reach over for him.

He took her hands, his cast now removed though a bandage still lingered in his right hand. She let him curl against her on her bed, the covers warmer now that he was sharing heat and she felt the slight tremors in his body when she pulled him closer, hands curling to touch his back. Jaime pressed his nose against the hollow at the bottom of her throat, his breath warm and moist and she felt him release a shudder, a muffled noise that sounded like an angry sob and she felt resentment welling up again, why cry? _Why cry for her when you have me_ , was what she wanted to say but she was too much of a coward yet she knew she was smart so she kept her mouth shut. She knew it would be wrong to say anything, anything, and she was glad for her sharpness, for her smartness and she wouldn’t say those words and risk being hurt, she was certain it would be foolishness to put into words what she felt for him now, to voice it out, especially now when the contrasts between her and Cersei were being drawn by his grief.

So she simply held him, tears stinging the corners of her eyes, mimicking his grief for a love lost, for an almost-love, almost-together, possibilities ending with the release of tears, drop by drop, hopes shattering and dissolving and Brienne swore to not hope, not after this, when she had invested so much, too much of her feelings only for it to be unmatched like this. She cradled Jaime’s head in her bosom and wiped the corners of her eyes with her free hand, words never were her friends, and she simply let everything melt and tried to forget.

 

 

She made him breakfast when he woke up, just like all those times when she did and Jaime made her lunch in response. He was smiling when she walked in, her brows slightly furrowed at him.

“This is a new recipe.” He grinned, placing a plate in front of her. He sat from across her and urged her to sit with a wave of his hand. She frowned but followed suit, taking a fork as she sniffed what looked like a chicken in tomato sauce.

“Is this edible?”

Jaime smugly shrugged, a brow arched and Brienne conceded as she knifed a small portion and swept it into her mouth. She looked up at him briefly, eyes meeting his green ones, eyes not matching the smile on his lips, so pretentious and not him. She pursed her lips as she swallowed, pushing back the anger faintly reminding her of the unfairness, of the unequal weight of feelings and attachments between them wanting to tell him that he should treat her with a bit more importance than this, but forced a smile on her lips instead, told him the dish was alright to which he automatically responded with a snort. Brienne took in a deep inhale, knew he was leaving, leaving soon, perhaps for far longer than before, he might not come back tomorrow, or the week after, or next month, next year, he might not come back at all. She could read every single thing on his face, grieving yet smiling and she returned his smile and forced the smile to reach her eyes and her eyes obliged, though she wanted so very much to cry. Was it a thank you? Did he cook to thank her? That? She wanted to tell him it was not enough but she was a coward and her self-esteem was nowhere to be found so she kept her mouth shut, listened as he feigned cheeriness, feigned a smile, a laugh. He gathered his coat and slipped on his shoes, eyes lacklustre and dead.

“I’ll see you then.”

Brienne only nodded, convinced herself it was only like this, he would come and she would accept him, he would ask and she would give and it was painful but it was all that it will ever be.

 

 

She would be a liar if she told herself she hadn’t waited. She listened more attentively to every scrape, scratch, footstep, outside her door hoping it was Jaime yet knowing it was not him. She buried herself in her work, monitored the Baelish stocks, wanted to use the Arryn connection to Baelish to have a reason to call Jaime, ask him, talk to him, but she knew that if he wanted to talk he would just have to call, the distance between King’s Landing and the Vale did not prevent him from calling her again and again after all, yet somehow the distance between the two of them now, was wider and deeper, a trench Jaime dug. She wanted to just call and curse him, tell him he was being ungrateful, didn’t he say Lannisters pay their debts? So where is her payment now?

She could call and demand a payment, _come back, come to me, come now_ , but she was not like that and Jaime was not hers and could never be hers and she gave her feelings so freely, attached herself to him so freely a collection of payment was not possible. She worked until her eyes hurt, head hurt, fingers hurt, heart hurt and she tried to forget.

When Margaery Tyrell came to King’s Landing a month after, she, Renly and Loras invited Brienne to dinner. She hesitated, thinking how she needed to go home in case Jaime would come and would find the house empty. But she knew it was foolish of her so she agreed and Margaery gave her a hug which almost had her crying but she held on to her composure, not wanting to crumble. She felt like she needed a hug and she needed to cry but Margaery already gave her a hug so Brienne thought she would not be selfish and not wish to cry too. She knew Margaery’s eyes were asking where Jaime was and Brienne wanted to avoid her eyes, but the brunette’s eyes seemed to look deep into her and Brienne couldn’t do anything but purse her lips.

They were talking about the venture in Highgarden and Brienne wanted it to happen quickly, as soon as possible, so she could remove herself from King’s Landing and start anew. “So he hasn’t called?”

She looked up from her veal and found Loras looking at her, expecting an answer, a similar look on Renly’s and Margaery’s faces and she simply shrugged.

The brunette sipped from her wine glass. Her eyes were focused intently at her, a piercing look and Brienne found it hard to look away.

There was nothing Brienne could say, she wanted to tell them about Harrenhal and the Vale and how he was there and always there before but she felt her words would reach them wrongly, providing them with the wrong idea about the two of them. Jaime didn’t say anything about being together so she should not expect him to be _always there_ and telling her of what he was doing, where he was, who he was with, who he loved, who he _would_ love. She did hope, they were friends in labels but she knew that he was more than a friend to her, and she did hope that Jaime would feel the same way too but he apparently couldn’t, wouldn’t, because though Cersei was someone else’s now Jaime was still hers.

The meal ended with promises, the venture would push through she was told and Renly had met with Catelyn about setting a date for Brienne’s transfer, the Arryn relocation had been done successfully besides. The King’s Landing had been a terrible place to begin with, and Brienne wanted to breathe fresh air and forget, at least these budding feelings she knew she has for Jaime, she wanted to stay friends and Jaime was a nice friend after all, and Brienne knew the distance will make her heart grow less fond, less remembering, and soon she would be forgetting, all these feelings would become a figment of her imagination, and she would cease to worry why Jaime did not come, why he would not come, when he would come again. Besides, overthinking caused her indigestion.

 

 

The following month, Brienne received an email from Catelyn saying her contract with the Arryns was over and that she was to get ready to be deployed to Highgarden within the following month, accordingly based on past discussions. She typed in an acknowledgment and prepared to leave, she slowly disposed the furnishings she bought for the house in Cobbler’s Square, sent them to a thrift store selling expats’ furniture and furnishings and sent her clothes through a baggage delivery service to Highgarden. Margaery had made preparations for her to be housed at a serviced apartment the Tyrells owned, it would be completely furnished she was told and she had entertained the idea of shipping her bed and her bath (because she spent so much for these) and her couch (because of Jaime) but made sure to forget about it, especially that idea about the couch.

By the end of the month, three months since Cersei Lannister became Cersei Baratheon, three months since Jaime disappeared, her house was as sparse as she first came. She had not managed to grow any vegetative life. Her train ride was tomorrow and she had asked for the bed and the couch to be retained until that night, she needed to sleep besides, and, no she was not hoping. She wondered if Jaime had grown fond of her couch and she thought that it might be a good idea to sell it to him instead, Jaime might pay better for it, he was a Lannister after all and Lannisters pay their debts, at least in that she could be repaid. She let out a bark of laughter at her silliness, and found the idea so amusing she started laughing and laughing, again and again until there were tears in her eyes and she was crying, crying after all those times when she had not let even a single tear drop stupidly from her eyes.

Perhaps she should let him know and her eyes were bleary with tears as she typed and un-typed words in her phone, wanting him to know that she was leaving and that they were not likely to see each other again, erasing and erasing, words like pleading and she would not want to come across as begging, she wouldn’t want to belittle herself more so she settled on a simple message, a message that she hoped would sound neutral though it sounded stupid in her ears. But she pressed send before she could talk herself out of it and grimaced at the foolish foolish words and hoped he would not read it.

_I’m leaving for Highgarden tomorrow. Just texted to inform you in case you would need my sofa. -Brienne_

 

 

Jaime had apparently read her message and was there on her front door by ten in the evening. She had finished packing the remaining stuff that she had and was checking files and locks when Jaime knocked on her front door. She stood gaping at him, heart hammering in her chest as it registered to her that he was there and not merely a hallucination, no, loneliness hasn’t made her crazy yet.

“Can I come in?” he was smiling, a smile in his eyes and he looked different, happier and she wondered if Cersei had divorced her recent husband (but she hadn’t, Brienne would surely know about it in the news if that was to happen, they were both high-profile besides) so Brienne thought maybe there was someone new, perhaps Jaime found someone else and she felt a slight pang in her chest at the idea. But she knew she shouldn’t, Jaime was a good-looking man besides, anyone would want him, and there were many pretty women surrounding him, many from good families and Jaime could choose from any one of them.

She opened the door wider for him and he made his way to the couch, announcing he would accompany her to the train station tomorrow. Brienne hoped he would tease her and insist he come along, she was ready to put up a fight, and was willing to eventually agree to let him come, but he didn’t say anything and her heart sank a bit at his silence, though his eyes were bright and shining and smiling at her as he took his usual place and slept on the couch, while she removed herself to the bedroom and hid under the blankets, ignoring the little voice telling her to ask Jaime to come with her to Highgarden, or if he could not do that, ask him to come to bed with her, even just this night, because she would forget, she would have to forget, everything when they separate that following morning.

 

 

He was simply smiling at her as he drove her to the train station, his grin infectious and she couldn’t help but return the grin, even as she wanted to ask him to come, to plead but she could only grin and grin stupidly at him as she boarded the first train to Highgarden. He was still standing on the platform when she realized she should have asked him why, why did he come just now, why didn’t he show up in the last three months, why, what was he doing then, was he back with Cersei and why, _why were you toying with my feelings you, you scum_ , and _why, why am feeling like this_?

Margaery received her with smiles at the Highgarden terminal, her smile a bit too knowing for Brienne’s comfort and she felt there was something she doesn’t know, something she should, and she knew there was something going on when Margaery whispered to her, “Open your eyes Brienne.”

Brienne only upturned her lips in response, not understanding what she meant, Margaery laughing coyly at her reaction. She told her she could not understand and that she was not so good with riddles and that could she speak in plainer words? Margaery insinuated the riddle would be solved the following day.

The following day, Jaime arrived in Highgarden.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright (fan) girls and boys, we are officially done with this arc. Let's all give each other a warm round of applause shall we? Just to share a little anecdote from my airport transfer, when the guy at the ticketing office was asking where I wanted to go, I was so bent on replying Slaver's Bay, but hesitated, knowing there's war over there so I said I'm bound for Shibuya instead and got the ticket. And then, that same day I had dinner with a Japanese student who had been to Croatia, I asked her when and hoped she meant to say just last week or sometime within the recent past (anytime since GOT started filming again) and explained to her that my favorite series was shooting there to which she only nodded. I need fangirls over here.
> 
> So we move to a new location next chapter and fluff will ensue! 
> 
> Chapter inspired by The Script's I'm Yours. Kudos and comments are love.
> 
> I may not have the softest touch  
> I may not say the words as such  
> And though I may not look like much  
> I'm yours.


	15. Back and forth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime almost laughed at his superhuman capacity to train his libido, every freckle beckoning to him, every patch of skin wanting to be tasted and he internally clapped his back for a job well done, for keeping the wench untouched by him despite his urges.

At times Jaime felt it rather a foolish and childish decision, but he knew what he needed to do and what was needed to be done. He was not a patient man, but he could let go of months without the wench’s touch if he could get a lifetime with her in exchange. Tyrion told him he need not stop seeing the wench, and he agreed but the sudden flights to Casterly Rock would have prevented him either way. It was merely logistics he knew and he could squeeze some minutes to cuddle with the freckled girl if he wanted to (and if she would have allowed him), but he seemed to be relying a great deal on her these past months and he knew that he should resolve this all on his own. He thought the wench had understood, she had never called to ask him what he was up to after all, though when he had received a message from her finally, the thought that the wench misunderstood it (again) crossed his mind, and had him feeling rather amused, and quite irritated at the very slight confidence the wench had in herself and in him. He would have kissed her then but he thought it would be better to drag it longer, all her emotions reflected in her pretty eyes, her confusion at him finally showing, affirming the possibility that the wench wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He settled into his seat, getting into the first train bound for Highgarden. The Lannister Corporation was being passed on to him, surprisingly, according to his father’s last will, much to Cersei’s chagrin and Tyrion’s amusement (the latter knew how much he doesn’t want it) and Jaime knew he was not fit to carry it on. He has no head for politics, he liked numbers well enough and some other things (like the wench and her eyes) but politics had never been his forte. He could battle with words but it was Tyrion’s domain as much as seduction was Cersei’s. Jaime knew he was a simple man and he wanted only simple things; he had been contemplating on getting a house somewhere near Tarth, the wench did mention it has the most beautiful waters in Westeros. But he wouldn’t be able to complete this simple dream if he were to take on the Lannister Corporation.

He had been working out on a restructuring plan that would have Tyrion managing the whole thing, but surprisingly, his brother had developed a taste for the East and wouldn’t want the baton. He did agree though to manage portions of it if Jaime pleaded well enough, his pleas included an agreement to fly to Essos with the wench to attend the wedding. “They have interesting wedding ceremonies,” he had said, a glint in his eye that Jaime did not fail to notice. “And honeymoons as well. Thought it might do you some good to have Miss Tarth along. I heard she’s rather naïve.” Jaime had only laughed at the insinuations but promised him they would both go, he would have to keep his mouth shut about the interesting ceremonies however if he wanted the wench to come along.

It was tough work but the restructuring would have been completed smoothly if not for Cersei. She wanted her people inside and Jaime was so keen on purging the company of cliques. Tyrion had helped him assess each and every individual within the Rock, it wouldn’t do to have a rock full of holes anyway, and Tyrion was only glad to help, it was also his in the first place. The first to go had been a certain Taena Merryweather whose husband Cersei had struck deals with rather surreptitiously, wire transfers coming out in dozens as he and Tyrion dug deeper and deeper. It seemed like their father had no idea about the cliques Cersei had planted within the Rock though Tyrion had voice it out a number of times, seemed their sweet sister had been working all those times when the two of them were busy looking for themselves. “We should give Cersei some credit I say,” Jaime had proffered.

Tyrion had snorted then, a wine glass in hand, wine almost sloshing as he had laughed at Jaime’s delivery. “We should. What do you think we should do with our sweet sister?”

Jaime had hummed, thinking, had known all along he should placate Cersei with something. “I’m not sure. The law firm should be hers of course.”

“The first thing she’d most probably do is change its name.”

He had laughed. “Very good then. The better to distance the Lannister name.”

“Can’t believe these words are coming from your mouth brother.” Tyrion had eyed him from the brim of his wineglass, an open folder in front of him. His eyes had twinkled in that way Jaime knew very well, he was getting somewhere Jaime had known, as Tyrion had always been. Tyrion had been trying to arrive at the wench’s name and though Jaime has no qualms about Brienne being brought up in their discussion, he hadn’t been ready yet to reveal to anyone the extent and depth of his feelings.

Jaime had only shrugged then with a tilt of his head. Cersei had married not long after their father’s death and Jaime had to admit it was the blow that made him shatter, he could remember Brienne’s arms, her soothing touches, as he let his grief run through him, that moment of weakness he knew the wench had misinterpreted again. He had seen it in her eyes the following morning, in the rather resigned way she saw him to the door, as if she could read his mind, as if she knew he was leaving for quite some time, as if she knew he was not going to show up in a while. Though Brienne’s resignation had been misinformed, he hadn’t the courage to tell her otherwise, he was unsure then, Cersei had interrupted his slowly recovering self with the news of her marriage, it was her who he had loved for the longest time after all.

“Don’t you miss her?”

“Cersei? No!” He had almost laughed incredulously then though his quick reaction had made him think that it was probably time to come back _home._ He had been quite taken aback at his immediate response, had known that it was a eureka moment, very similar to the epiphany he had when the wench went to the Vale and he to King’s Landing.

“I was referring to your blue-eyed friend.”

Jaime had only smiled, tapping fingers. It had been more than two months then since he last saw her, the severe need to come to and fro Casterly providing the needed excuse to not see her, not yet, not until everything had been completed, arranged, rearranged, until he could be confident enough to take her, and provide her the best of himself that he could offer. “Yes.” The word was out of his mouth before he had even known it, the word he had uttered tasting sweet in his mouth. He had known it would taste sweeter once he saw her; in a way this had been becoming a delayed gratification of some sort.

Tyrion had stood up then, leaving the wineglass on the low table. “I’m done for the day. My wife misses me.”

Jaime had patted his brother as he passed through him to reach the door. “I guess I am too.”

“And your wife misses you too.”

“Husband. She’s the husband in our relationship.” Jaime had laughed at his stupid joke and Tyrion had nodded seriously (Jaime wondering if his brother believed that jokes were half-meant) and Jaime’s laugh had strengthened at his brother’s reaction. He had wanted then to call the wench and tell her what Tyrion had been saying though the fact that his tasks were far from complete had him holding back.

The restructuring was not yet complete when Jaime had received her message a month after, the reason he had halted whatever it was he had started, had driven to Cobbler’s Square in a haste, less than a quarter of a year since he last saw her, barely a month into the testing period of the restructured organization. The wench had sent him a message saying she was leaving for Highgarden. He hadn’t taken into account the possibility of the Highgarden venture pushing through within the same year, though he should have known, he had met Renly Baratheon that New Year’s Eve party and ran into the Tyrell siblings a couple of times in King’s Landing. But Catelyn would have informed him, should have informed him, days ahead, that she was planning on sending _his_ freckled wench to Highgarden. He had almost dialled the Stark matriarch’s number but had managed to hold himself in check. Besides, why should Catelyn inform him about the wench’s deployment?

Jaime rolled in his head the message the wench had sent as he took the first train bound for Highgarden the morning following Brienne’s departure. It had sounded distant enough ( _I’m leaving for Highgarden tomorrow. Just texted to inform you in case you would need my sofa._ ) and he knew he would have to scold the wench about it. He has no need of her couch, he has need of her and though he had been very much tempted to call her, see her, meet her, there had been sudden trips to Casterly, meetings with stockholders, Cersei’s nagging, Cersei’s threats of seeing him in court, Tyrion’s reluctance to take over. In the end he had asked for Uncle Kevan to take over. His father had faith in the man and Jaime too, he had known how good his uncle was and though it took some convincing before his uncle agreed, he finally did say yes, on the condition that Jaime retain his position as being one of the major stockholders (with Tyrion). He could work behind the scenes his uncle suggested, since he doesn’t want the politics, it would be better, that kind of arrangement and Jaime reluctantly agreed. He would have to work still, to get Tyrion to accept his shares. It doesn’t mean he would abandon the corporation, he just doesn’t think it would do the corporation any good to fall in his hands, given his reputation and his lack of penchant for political manoeuvring. It had been weeks and weeks of paperwork, flying in and out of King's Landing, pushing papers and rolling negotiations. There had been too many laid off, the Rock wasn't as formidable as it was made out to be, and Jaime hadn't taken into consideration how to provide compensation for the massive lay off. 

He had spent majority of the past months in Casterly, managing the pay-outs, the restructuring, and it was mostly luck that had him receiving the wench's text message back in King's Landing. He had just flown in from the Rock then, sleep-deprived and hungry, and though he had tried to forget about the wench in the last several weeks while working out the issues about the Rock, everything suddenly came back to him the instant he read her message, panic running through him and he quickly dropped his bags at his apartment and went to the wench.

The wench had looked like a deer caught in headlights when she had opened the door last night and Jaime’s immediate response had been to grin at her, which Brienne, as if not knowing how to respond, reflected. He didn’t tell her anything though, wanting to keep the suspense until the following day, when she would see him in Highgarden. He had immediately called Margaery Tyrell upon receiving Brienne’s message, had asked for the details of the wench’s contract (which was confidential but he was persistent, and the Tyrell girl seemed to like the idea of Brienne and Jaime together) and had asked (demanded) that a similar accommodation be made for him. He would be paying of course, he had no services to be offered to the Tyrells, but moving to Highgarden would make his commute to Casterly easier; there were trains and direct flights from Highgarden to Lannisport, and the Westerlands was closer to Highgarden besides.

Jaime knew the wench wouldn’t take his sudden appearance in Highgarden well, he almost cringed at the possible bodily harm that could be inflicted but well, it was the wench and he owed her that much. She had been all there was to him since the accident with his hand, she was loyal and he was finally understanding his feelings for her might be deeper than what he initially thought, though he was still confused as to what it should be called. But he doubted they needed to call it anything, love seemed petty enough when he looked back to assess what he had with Cersei.

 

 

Jaime couldn’t help the little grin accompanying the nervous skittering in his stomach as he pressed the buzzer to her apartment, he had requested the Tyrell heiress to provide him the door next to Brienne’s. He heard her muffled steps behind the door, the intercom buzzing as her voice came through and he felt the smile spreading across his face.

“Who is it?”

“Your new neighbour.” He lowered his voice and tried hard not to chuckle. “Might be you could lend me a cup of flour.” He could feel her unease and he angled away from the peephole knowing she would probably be looking through. He could feel laughter bubbling in his throat as the door jamb tentatively turned, the door slightly opening. He smiled smugly, moving into her line of sight and he felt the surprise and shock in her as her blue eyes widened, the blue threatening to spill over the dark rim, almost like water and he felt himself taking a step towards her, his hand pushing the door wider as he invited himself, taking advantage of her momentary shock to step inside.

His name was out of her mouth as he slipped his right hand, still in bandages, around her waist, guiding her to step back to allow him to move in, the other hand curling around the door jamb to close the door firmly behind them.

“Brienne.” He kissed her cheek, letting his mouth linger longer than it should, her name a whispered sound from his mouth to her ear as he guided his other hand to rest on her hip, the feel of her under his palms, warm and _home_.

“What are you doing here?” Seemed she found her voice and her wits as she pulled back to look at him, at his right hand (still the worrywart).

“I’m your new neighbour. I did say didn’t I?” He laughed and pulled her into an embrace again. He had stopped himself from touching her on her last night at King’s Landing, promises of delayed gratification in his head, such promises proving worth the wait as he touched every available skin within his reach. He curled a hand around her back, her neck enticing and he buried his nose behind her ear, sniffing and almost-kissing (kissing would be cheating) the soft skin there, his nose grazing until the hollow at the base of her throat. He felt her shiver, the slow burn evident in the way she moved away from him, her skin gooseflesh and he smiled at her flushed face.

“How? Why…you didn’t say…” She furrowed her brows and Jaime knew if he let one sassy remark past his lips Brienne would counter with a well-aimed punch. He gathered her hands in his, the forward and backward steps like a dance as they ended in the living room.

“You’re guiding me where? To your bed?” He tilted his head to the side and on instinct he manoeuvred to her side as she threw him a punch aimed at his middle which landed on his arm instead. He grinned even as he patted the skin she hit but nevertheless moved closer. “I’ll tell you why, but come closer first.”

She scrunched her nose and looked away, her face pink and flushing, her eyes bright. Jaime could read her like an open book, knew she was hurt, knew her hurt, knew she doubted everything. “If I give you your cup of flour will you leave?”

He tried hard not to grimace at her words but it was so hard not to. He knew her doubts were not ill-placed, it was within her rights to assume he was only coming to her because he needed something, he did not show up for a long time after all, without any word as to what he was up to. And he knew her doubts were compounded by the fact that he cut off communication with her after Cersei married. He stalked her, pulling her hands in his. “No. And I lied. It’s not _only_ flour that I need.”

She arched a brow, a quick punch getting him in the ribs and he let out a little yelp which had her smiling. “You’re not welcome here Lannister.”

“If I offer myself would you welcome me Tarth?” He purred, easing her into his arms. She squirmed, pushing him away. He murmured lewdly in her ears, promising her what he would do to her and what she could do to him and she slapped his arm feigning annoyance, pushing him but not managing to. She took in a deep breath, eyes looking at him tentatively and she pursed her lips.

“I won’t ask if you wouldn’t want me to ask.” She swallowed hard, her hands splayed on his upper arms. “But,” she pinched him, “If you plan on going MIA you should tell me first.”

He snorted. “If I don’t tell you and I go MIA what would happen?”

“You’ll be a head shorter once I find you.”

“Great.” He bit into a smile. “That’s enough incentive not to go missing out on you again.” He felt warmth spreading into him as she eased into his embrace, the fact that she blatantly spoke about wanting to know had him grinning, it was enough affirmation that she cared more than she let on and he pulled her tighter, arms wounding around her, rubbing her back gently, nose in her hair. He knew that it was a little too easy, to be forgiven like this, she was good and wonderful of course, but he was certain that though the wench had accepted him back there would always be doubts in her, it was up to him now to make sure she understood.

 

 

He told her some details about the restructuring of the Lannister Corporation that evening over delivered pizza and pasta and he watched her reaction to every word he said, he wondered if she believed him, if push comes to shove he knew Tyrion would vouch for him. He had made it so easy for her to doubt him and think that he went to Cersei when he left, and he was sure the wench would not voice out any doubts she had been nursing because they were not together _together_ in the first place, they seemed to be playing house, but they haven’t named whatever kind of arrangements they have after all.

Brienne had cleaned up after they ate and Jaime smiled at the seemingly auto-pilot of the wench when it came to chores. He urged her to sit with him on the sofa as soon as she was done and she claimed the farthest end of the couch and turned her laptop on. Jaime allowed her to work in silence for a while until he beckoned her with a nod of his head and she frowned. He crossed the distance between them on the sofa instead. “This is not that comfortable of a couch as the one you have in your house at Cobbler’s Square.”

“So?”

He smiled against her sleeved arm. Brienne moved him back with a roll of her shoulder. She was arranging files in her laptop, she did say she was meeting the Tyrells tomorrow morning and would have to take up office space at the Tyrell headquarters. They were providing her shuttle as well. “You don’t expect me to sleep here, do you?”

“I don’t.”

Jaime beamed, looking over her shoulder to peek at whatever she was doing.

“You have to go home. You just live next door.”

“Or you can smuggle me into bed.”

“Or I can kick you out.”

He smiled against her sleeve, hands trailing the hem of her shirt, her warmth seeping into him. “There would be days when I would have to go to Casterly. But I would always come back.”

“You don’t have to tell me that Jaime.”

He hummed against her nape, moving up to nuzzle on the longer strands of her hair, the night reminiscent of the many nights they spent at her apartment at Cobbler’s Square before the accident, his father’s deaths, Cersei’s marriage made him leave. “I need to. If I want trust in this relationship I need to tell you that.”

“What?” She laughed incredulously at him, pushing him with her back while she turned her laptop off. “Stop jesting. Go home. I need to sleep. I need to be early tomorrow.” She stood up, gathered the machine in her hands and stalked to the bedroom.

 

 

Jaime did try to sleep but knowing the wench was near had him turning over and over. The couch was actually comfortable, it was better compared to the couch the wench had in her apartment in King’s Landing but it seemed sleep wouldn’t come to him tonight. He contemplated going back to his apartment next door but knowing the wench was close had him rooted to his place. He sat up, paced the darkened room, hands crossing across his chest, eyes darting to look at the seemingly-beckoning door. He walked to the door, a footstep shy from pushing it open. He knew the wench did not lock the door, he would have heard if she did.

She allowed him to sleep with her that night Cersei got married, he didn’t know how he had managed to invite himself in, what possessed him to ask permission to cross the threshold, but she had allowed him and he had never felt more _whole_ then, regardless of all those things around them, between them, he knew they have gone beyond the label friends and this was more than what it seemed to be. He could volunteer to outline everything into words, the wench wasn’t good with words besides, but he feared he would say the wrong thing if prompted. He has a penchant for saying the wrong things at the wrong time after all.

But he wanted her, at least to feel her. He wondered how he managed to sleep on her couch all those nights knowing she was near. He almost laughed at his superhuman capacity to train his libido, every freckle beckoning to him, every patch of skin wanting to be tasted and he internally clapped his back for a job well done, for keeping the wench untouched by him despite his urges. He would keep her untouched longer, but he would want to keep her closer despite his _honourable_ intentions. She has doubts but he was certain and he would try, try his hardest, to send the message across. But he needed to make his claim, the wench does have a certain capacity to attract attention, height notwithstanding.

He knocked once, pushing the door slightly open, a stream of light flooding him from the lamplight turned on beside the bed. She opened her eyes, and he padded to her, not waiting for her to speak. She was on her back, her brows furrowed at him as he slowly threw the covers open, his eyes not breaking contact from hers, the movement causing a fluttering of her eyelashes. He slipped in slowly, her warmth under the blankets melting his uncertainties and he moved closer, pulling the covers around them tighter.

“Jaime.”

“The couch’s uncomfortable wench.”

“Go home.”

“I am home.”

She hissed at him and turned her back. He smiled, invited himself to come closer, his arms wounding around her waist. She lifted an arm to help him wrap his hand tighter around her and he almost laughed but knew she was probably blushing and he figured laughing now would result in him being kicked out of the bedroom.

He wanted to apologize, but he had been apologizing for so long, he had been relying on words for so long and he figured the words lost their meaning the instant he left and he resolved to let his actions speak for himself this time. He smiled again instead, a sad smile on his mouth as he pressed his lips against her hair, his calf twirling around hers, toes touching and he felt her took in a deep breath. Yet it was only through words that he can tell her how he felt.

"I'm sorry Brienne."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright Chapter 15 done! Now let's go back to the fluffier parts of these series. Anyway, had time to work on this chapter the entire day as I was free to just roam and work on whatever I needed to work on today. I was waiting for an email for my tutor (they have that here for foreign students, the advisers assign foreign students a tutor to help them with getting around, registering at the city hall, help with classes among others) but haven't received any so I just explored the uni and people-watched. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm thinking that if I get to finish my MA this March at my uni back at my country (I just need to do final defense for my MA thesis), then I should just pursue a PhD here in Japan don't you think? Haha. Sorry, academic rants. :D
> 
> Kudos and comments are love. Chapter inspired by Jason Mraz's In Your Hands:
> 
> Motorcycles and for sure The Eiffel Tower  
> They were made for two  
> A double bed has never felt so empty  
> What's missing in the world is you  
> So I'll leave it in your hands now


	16. Wisdom and promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ride was quickly over, Jaime silent all throughout, almost tense as Brienne fed the key to the door, his steps impatient as the door finally clicked, his hand quickly grabbing hers as he pushed past the door and into the threshold of the apartment, dark but for the moonlight streaming through the windows, had her against her back on the wall and his hand dangerously climbing up her thighs.

Jaime was in her apartment when she came back from work, the Tyrell building where Brienne kept office was some twenty minutes away by shuttle. The door was locked but she could hear the sounds of the television from where she was standing, tittering in her bag for the elusive key. She had remembered putting it in the front pocket of her bag in her haste—she was almost late that morning, Jaime pulling her back to bed and coaxing her to stay for some more minutes. She hadn’t counted on falling asleep, with her heart still doing somersaults because of Jaime’s nearness, but apparently she had and the insufferable man hadn’t woken her up, saying she needed sleep, “The Baratheon’s working you to death wench.”

Jaime always made faces whenever she mentioned Renly, and though she tried hard not to read anything into it,  it was becoming hard to ignore that little voice in her head suggesting the blond man was becoming jealous. But friends could be jealous, and Jaime did voice out once how he thought she was spending too much time with Renly and the Tyrell siblings, skipping the dinners he had painstakingly prepared. “But those are not even food.” She had complained, and in response he had made stupid faces but as to how such a man could still look pretty sporting weird expressions she doesn’t know.

The door opened with a flourish, Jaime in sweatpants and in an old white shirt that fitted him in the right places, smiling at her languidly in greeting. She immediately took a step back, knowing Jaime’s knack for making her blush, she knew he would be pulling her close if she doesn’t widen the gap between them, though Jaime was persistent it seemed as he stepped out to pull her into a hug, the door wide open, as he wrapped his arms firmly around her in the corridor. “Welcome home.”

It felt rather domestic, he did say that if they were to ever get married, she would be the husband in their relationship, working and bringing pay checks while he does the housework (though she doubted; Jaime wasn’t good at anything remotely housework-related). She had snuffed the life out of him with a punch then, his joke so incredulous she couldn’t stop frowning at him. He had only laughed while he nursed a slowly blooming bruise and had casually put his arm around her shoulder.

She let herself be pulled knowing it was futile to fight Jaime. He was a persistent man, bordering on the annoying and Brienne was too tired to play tug-o-war with him right now, so she let herself be encased in his embrace, his warmth and scent heady and home and she let herself be dragged inside, the door closing with a soft thud. “Have you eaten?”

She nodded, her eyes closed, her body almost a dead weight. “I’m tired. “

“Come to bed then.”

It occurred to her that he must have been waiting for her despite the hour. It was past midnight and it was past the usual hour of her return home. Jaime had been true to his words since he came to Highgarden, he had left once for Casterly though he had made it to a point to explain to her why he needed to go, not that she needed his explanation. She knew of course where she stood in all this, her legs could keep standing here if necessary, she wouldn’t want to go anywhere, besides, trying to go anywhere would make her too much of a supercilious person. She had felt sadness when Jaime left and she had resolved not to be affected in that way once more if he would leave again, they were just friends besides and nothing more. She had tried telling him once that it would not be necessary for him to tell her everything, she knew what she was to him and who she was to him and though she knew she should not settle for _this_ , there really was nowhere else to go. Besides, Jaime was the closest friend she has, acting like a lady and demanding something _more_ from him would only put their friendship on a precarious balance. She doesn’t expect, not really, not anymore at least, not when he had pointed out (with his actions) who was the most important person in his life. She couldn’t compete with _her_ , heck she doesn’t even know if she can be allowed to even think of competing with her. Jaime had made it a point to show she should not be competing with anyone, that she doesn’t have any capacity to compete with anyone when he left. That was how she knew, and though Jaime was here, embracing her, cooking for her and sleeping in her bed, she knew that all of this meant nothing. If he could leave her once then he could leave again. She was not naïve. At least not _that_ naïve. She’d rather be indifferent than naïve.

Jaime locked the door as she dragged herself to her room to change clothes with the bedroom door firmly closed between them. She could hear Jaime moving about, turning appliances off, checking locks and windows and she wondered whether the man had slept on his own bed since he came to Highgarden. He had never asked to move in, though it was as good as living together, this arrangement that they have, and Margaery Tyrell insinuated about it at work though Brienne was tough enough not to blush at the words coming out of the Tyrell rose. “Do you use protection? Though it would not really matter for the venture if you suddenly get knocked up.”

She had stared shocked at the brunette lady and had excused herself just as Margaery broke into little peals of laughter that would put a songbird to shame for its musicality. She had been flushing when she got back to the safe confines of her office, the words in her head, and she couldn’t help the image of a topless Jaime coming to her bed every night. She had forced Jaime to put on a shirt since then. Jaime had laughed and had looked at her in that knowing way, asking her whether him being shirtless was making her feel like doing anything other sleeping, “Not that I’m not willing.” He had licked his lips then in that gross gross way that nevertheless had made her feel a little too hot in her clothes. She had pushed him away then, but he had pulled her into a tight bear hug, choking the life out of her and tickling her like she was a little girl.

Brienne slightly opened the door, a signal for him to come in. They have developed some sort of wordless agreements about their arrangements and though it was clearly no sign of invitation—she was not encouraging him to stay, but she was not turning him away either—she would not be a hypocrite and say she doesn’t enjoy Jaime being there. Jaime was nice to cuddle with, he was warm and it was growing cold. Summer had passed them as soon as it had begun, she was too absorbed with trying to forget him during those months when he was away, and he was probably too busy putting his life back (as based on what he had told her, and she knew it involved Cersei one way or the other, though as to how she wouldn’t really want to know). She wanted to ask Jaime if he was merely escaping, if he was using her to escape but she was not that brave, not that good with words in the first place, so she had accepted him _back_ (not that he had been _hers_ before but still). Nonetheless, she knew she was wiser now.

She slipped on the covers, yawning against the back of her hand when Jaime tiptoed in, the sounds of sharply drawn breath echoing in the din as he wrapped himself around her. She made a turn to move on her side, to hide her face away from him but he prevented her, pulling her closer to tuck her head under his chin. She was still a bit taller than him, almost negligible yes, but she had never felt so small in her entire life as she tentatively pressed her cheeks against the hollow between his collarbones, her palms splayed against his chest.

“I missed you today wench.”

“We’ve seen each other just this morning Jaime.”

“It was that long.”

She sighed exasperatedly at him, fitting herself more snugly against him.

“Are you asleep?”

“I would be if you don’t talk too much.”

He snorted, hands trailing to brush wispy strands of hair, fingers moving to fall soothingly against her shoulders, her back, thrumming against the flimsy material of her shirt. “I need to go back to Casterly the day after tomorrow.”

Brienne nodded. He had mentioned it yesterday and she had responded the same way. He made a noise of annoyance which made her look up. “So?”

He pursed his lips, fingers tracing to poke slightly on her forehead, the gesture making her frown. He soothed her furrowed brows with his fingers, a slight massage. He quickly closed the distance to peck her nose, a move which had her pulling back though his other arm around her back prevented her to. She stared back disbelievingly at him and he only chuckled. “You could have at least asked why.”

Brienne swiped him playfully in the chin, his sudden laughter breaking the stillness of the night. “Alright. Why?”

“We’re almost done with the pay-outs. Though,” his eyes looked intensely at her, “Cersei is making it hard for me and Tyrion. She wanted no pay-outs for her people, she wanted them back in.”

Brienne was rather surprised at the almost conversant way he said Cersei’s name. Before, it had been stories about the past, which made her almost like a phantom, ethereal and unreal, mysterious in that way that made Brienne wary, almost-afraid. The sparse use of her name had rendered her _different_ , special, as if Jaime couldn’t just simply speak it, as if speaking it would be sacrilegious or something equally profane. But recently he had been peppering his stories with her name, and Brienne knew it could either mean he was disentangling himself from her phantom, as if he had demystified her; or it could mean that their relationship had evolved into something that Jaime had become more comfortable about, a relationship of love and equals perhaps (though his stories about the golden woman would seem to refute the last statement, his stories about Cersei’s powerplay was rather, a bit too contradictory with Brienne’s hypothesis on developing a relationship of love and equals). But either way it was still surprising, Jaime saying her name casually like this, with her, as if it was not that name which had brought them away from each other in the first place (not that Brienne was thinking they were together, away would refer to their fights during New Year’s Eve and to his sudden disappearance). “So what would you do?”

“I have to be firm.” His eyes were almost gold in the dark. His hand had rested on the small of her back, tracing lazy circles. It sent goose bumps on her skin, rendering her flesh pimpled and alive and the hum of his body was hot and reverberating through her. She felt herself involuntarily shift closer.

“Be firm then.”

He nodded, his eyes watching her intensely. She could feel those green liquid fires tracing her face, her eyes, her nose, her mouth and she watched as he slowly bent down to meet her, her heart hammering in her chest, in her head and her eyes fluttered close, as his hair brushed softly against her eyes and his lips landing to kiss the corner of her mouth. “Good night Brienne.”

She had almost choked on a sound she kept in her throat as he pulled her closer to tuck her under his chin again. She willed her heart to slow down, knew he would feel it against his own heart. She wondered if he was feeling the same thing though she wondered at her incredulous thought. Jaime must have been away from Cersei for too long if he felt as much as wanting to kiss her freckled self. She almost laughed but sleep made her sense of humor dry (and having a sense of humor was a moot point in the first place) and closed her eyes, forgetting to note how his heart thundered against her ears, thinking it was only her blood pounding in her head.

 

 

Jaime had informed her some days ago about the engagement party to be held soon at Winterfell, an odd choice given the distance and the association of the Starks with the Winterfell. Jaime had explained Tyrion was trying to hit two birds with one stone, he was negotiating with the Starks of Winterfell about some business proposal regarding importing steel from Esssos. Tyrion had first discussed it with Catelyn, Jaime said, and the Stark matriarch suggested he talk to Jon Stark, her eldest who was managing the Winterfell business. And at the same time, Tyrion was making up for the extended postponement of the engagement to his Tysha, and had promised her an around-the-world sort of theme, with the wedding ending somewhere in Essos (though Brienne was sure Tysha was the kind of girl who would be happy to be wed anywhere as long as it was with Jaime’s half-brother, it was evident how much she loved Tyrion after all).

Tyrion had gallantly postponed the engagement when Jaime had the problem with his hand, the postponement becoming longer when things started happening all at once and it has been almost three quarters of a year since that day he introduced her to his fiancée and the engagement hadn’t pushed through yet. Brienne wondered if she could understand what Tysha was feeling, though it was in no way connected with how she thought all those things prevented anything between her and Jaime.

He was bound for the Rock that day and he would be away for almost a week, which made him much more annoying with all his pouting and concerns of not spending quality time together. He had suggested they use the bed for more than sleeping, and if not for the smile on his lips, she would have thought he was serious and she would have agreed, she was indifferent besides, she knew she wanted him physically, sex might be nice, though she hasn’t really tried it before. She had felt the charged atmosphere many times, they were still a man and a woman, and Jaime has been without a woman (she knew because he kept telling her, and she was inclined to believe given that he was always there) for a long time and Brienne was willing, she wanted to know whether she was in love with him or not, a physical confrontation might just be the eye-opener that she needed. She believed she was not in love with him, and that was why sex with Jaime would be welcomed, she could be indifferent because she was not in love, not like that, and just sex would be fine. She could never really expect him to be always there with her, could she? He had left once, he could leave again, she had never really stopped him, she was willing to get whatever she could, even if it was just sex. She was that indifferent. Maybe if she was also not a coward she would say yes when he would suggest it again.

“Almost a week. A week tops. If I can I’ll come back sooner.” He said as he checked his wallet, his bag had been packed and a taxi was waiting outside the building to take him to the terminal.

She nodded perfunctorily. They had gone through the same conversation last night and the other night and she felt it rather odd for Jaime to be continuously assuring her of his return.

He frowned. “I mean I’ll come back.”

“’Course you will.” She said with an involuntary shrug of her shoulders which might have sent him the wrong message given his hurried steps towards her, pushing her into a tight embrace.

“You don’t believe me.”

“Jaime.” She admonished, almost laughing at his foolish remarks. She believed him, of course she does, he would eventually return, he would return if he would have need of her, but he would return whenever he would want to, they were friends after all and friends help each other out in times of need.

He didn’t speak, his mouth against the side of her neck and she felt a tingle as he placed a kiss there. Jaime had grown bolder in his touches, not that she minded, he was touchy, always touching and needing to be touched. She had come to realize that was who he was and she had made it a point to not look beyond the easily given touches, they were merely touches and nothing more, they were friends wanting to be touched and to touch and she could take what was being freely offered.

“What are you doing?” It was perfunctory of her to ask him that, to still put a line between friends and something else. Something else would be painful she knew, and there was no possibility of something else to begin with. She was indifferent yes, but she also has her sense of self-preservation. She would want to know first, she could give and receive, but she would want to know first what was being asked and what was being given so she could delineate and plan how she would react. Hadn’t she said it before that she was wiser now?

“When I come back we’ll do something other than sleeping.” His voice was with a hint of playfulness as he extricated himself from her, his head in a slight bow, eyes tilted to look at her.

She smiled wryly at him, a slap against his arm and she replied, “Alright.”

“You said that.”

“I said alright.”

“Then prepare.”

“Oh I will.”

He showed her a feral grin, teeth biting into his grin. “Oh you will.” He yanked her closer, pressing every inch of hers against every inch of him, the sudden movement causing a rush of exhilarated and surprised breath from her, her surprise mirrored in her wide eyes. He bent down to kiss her chin, the slow movement a blur in the proximity, in the very small distance between them, a promise of what he could do to her when he returned and he was soon disappearing through the door, into the waiting taxi and to Casterly Rock.

 

 

Margaery had taken her shopping a couple of days after Jaime left, suggesting Brienne needed some girl time and a new wardrobe. She had agreed to have coffee but had said no to the wardrobe-suggestion saying she doesn’t really need any clothes, she has plenty of jeans and slacks and tops (and one, just one, dress, she bought with Jaime) and that would suffice for her everyday needs. Margaery had been quick to point out that she deserved some new stuff anyway, she had been working her arse off since the day she arrived and that Jaime would most probably appreciate seeing her in sexier clothing, “Though I assume it won’t take long before he gets you naked.” Brienne had almost screamed to the Maiden and the Mother then, her cheeks ablaze, all thoughts of a naked Jaime running rampant in her head and Margaery had sent her a knowing smile.

Margaery had spent a good amount of time looking at various clothing racks, pushing and pulling her into and out of dressing rooms. Brienne had vowed to get Margaery acquainted with Sansa, they would make good friends she had thought. She had been pushed into another dressing room when Margaery tossed her a little sheath dress. Her immediate reaction had been to complain about its shortness though Margaery hadn’t seemed to mind the length, and pushed her into putting it on. The dress had looked nice, a little dark blue sheath that allowed for movement and hid her rather androgynous frame, though it had been a tad bit too short, way above her knees and she had been reluctant to step out of the dressing room when Margaery had impatiently knocked on her door.

“Perfect,” had been Margaery’s reply as she scanned her from head to foot. Brienne had squirmed, feeling almost naked; Loras had warned her about Margaery’s penchant for dressing a bit less conservatively though the latter had only waved him off. “Now let’s see, when would Jaime be back?”

Brienne had only looked at her suspiciously though the word “Friday” had been out of her mouth before she had even known it and Margaery had quickly called up a restaurant to confirm some reservations for Friday. She had said she was holding a little dinner that week, a little dinner that will be composed of their Highgarden venture party, Jaime, and a couple of guests she would be inviting from the Reach. Brienne had said it would be improper to wear any such clothing but the brunette had been quick to wave her off.

Why is why she was wearing said dress on the way to a Tyrell-owned restaurant. Jaime would meet her there, there had been delays on his departure but he had assured her over the phone that he would make it to dinner. Renly and the Tyrell siblings were already there when she arrived and Loras looked appreciatively at her. “Nice to see my sister did not make you look like a skank.” She laughed nervously, eyes glancing at Renly who was smiling at her. She could not help the little blush on her cheeks at the sight of the man, he was still the first man she had ever liked, though her breath caught on her throat when she found Jaime walking through the doors looking like half a god.

“Brienne.” His voice was almost a whisper as he extended an arm to steady her when he caught her and kissed her cheek, much to Margaery’s delight which Brienne saw from the corner of her eyes. Jaime’s eyes raked along her length, their eyes meeting as he lifted his head up to watch her face. She furrowed her brows, a threat before he could laugh but there was no laughter in his eyes, something, though she couldn’t quite understand why he would look at her as if he was angry. She tilted her head to the side to ask him but the golden man just squeezed her waist, pulling her sharply against his side, almost tucking her against him as a stream of people came.

They sat with the hosts and there were little pleasantries shared here and there, Margaery flitting around like a busy bee while Renly and Loras only stared at each other, talking in low whispers. Jaime was surprisingly silent as he stayed by her side, a wine glass in hand. When the food was served, Margaery stood up to check each and every table, Jaime taking advantage of the moment to nudge her and whisper, “What are you wearing?”

“Yes. I don’t even know.”

Jaime frowned at her, his hands skittering to pull the hem lower. She swatted at his hands, and pulled the hem herself.

“Margaery made me wear it. Is it that bad?”

He didn’t reply but began poking with his food. She met Loras’ eye across the table, a little grin playing on his lips and Brienne scowled at him, much to his amusement.

More people turned up than she had initially expected, Margaery had mentioned a couple of guests, but Brienne did not expect this much, it was not a formal gathering anyway, it was mainly to meet people in the Reach, though business and socialization did mix a lot in these kind of meetings. Margaery invited Brienne to go around with her and meet the guests, and she reluctantly obliged, though she noted how Margaery smiled at Jaime after she had asked to borrow Brienne. Brienne saw a number of familiar faces, she had been expecting to know some, though she did not expect to meet some bad remnants of the past.

“Miss Tarth.” It was Edmund Ambrose, together with a surprisingly sombre Hyle Hunt. They were bad memories (mutually actually to each other, she had made it a point to break any breakable parts of the two men along with others who partook in that childish bet for her virginity during college) and Margaery seemed to have noted so she shuffled them along, a placating hand along her lower arm.

She had glanced back at the men and though Ambrose was already busy flirting with a random woman, Hunt was looking at her, their eyes meeting until the man nodded to her, a move which had her furrowing her brows in puzzlement. She glanced again and found Hunt gone, meeting Jaime’s eyes instead across the room as he crossed his arms in front of him, a tilt of his head urging her to come back and a gesture towards the hem of her dress which had hiked up. She tugged it down, scowling at Jaime and excused herself as Margaery chatted with some older women from Grassy Vale.

She was crossing the room to where Jaime was when Hunt appeared at her side, an offer to shake her hand, a congratulatory remark on being part of the Highgarden venture, and a little good-natured smile which had her arching a brow. She nodded though, she was not someone who got her high on treating people the same way they had treated her and excused herself just as Jaime gestured to the man who had already turned his back by the time Jaime reached her.

“Who?”

“No one. I want to go home.”

“And why?”

She gestured to the dress she was wearing. She took a hold of his hand which had him smiling and zigzagged across the room for Margaery who was now with Renly and Loras. She excused themselves and thanked Margaery for the dinner. Margaery was quick to bid them goodbye though the glint in the brunette’s eyes had her rolling her own blue ones and Jaime did not miss it, hand curling around her hip, trailing to touch the hem of her very short dress as they made it through the doors.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing.” She brushed Jaime’s hand away and hailed a cab. She pushed open the door and climbed in, suddenly taken aback by Jaime’s hands holding the hem of her dress as she positioned herself. She didn’t look at Jaime, her face burning at Margaery’s insinuations, at Jaime’s hand on her lap, at his uncharacteristic silence. “Is it that bad?”

“The dress you mean?” He was watching her face when she turned to look at him. She nodded though he didn’t reply and she assumed she looked ridiculously big in that little girl’s dress and swore she would never wear stupid dresses again. The first one had been a disaster, that New Year’s Eve and she had not learned her lesson and did it again. She sighed exasperatedly at the stupidly short hem of her dress and swatted Jaime’s hand away, pulling the hem down by herself.

 

 

The ride was quickly over, Jaime silent all throughout, almost tense as Brienne fed the key to the door, his steps impatient as the door finally clicked, his hand quickly grabbing hers as he pushed past the door and into the threshold of the apartment, dark but for the moonlight streaming through the windows, had her against her back on the wall and his hand dangerously climbing up her thighs. “Jaime,” was her first word, an exhale of surprise as he fisted with the hem of her dress, tugging it up until his hand made contact with the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

“Don’t wear it again.”

She nodded despite the stroking of his fingers on her thigh, a shudder going through her.

“I can see your panties as you pranced with the Tyrell girl in the restaurant.”

“What?” It was almost a bucket of cold water and she managed to pull back a little to stare him in the face.

“It’s overly short wench.” His hands slipped up, proving a point, up past the hem to touch the fabric of her underwear around her hips, his hands hot and resting there, fingers thrumming along the naked skin of her middle, along the trimmings of her underwear on her abdomen.

“It is. Now get your hands off me.”

Jaime shook his head, fingers hooking on the waistband of her underwear. She yelped, almost punched him but he pushed her further against the wall, trapping her. “Tell me you won’t wear it again.”

“I won’t.” She squirmed when he splayed his fingers along her stomach, now trailing up and down her ribs. She put her hands on his upper arms, and looked at him. “I won’t. As bad as it is, I won’t.”

“It’s not bad.” She furrowed her brows at him. “Your legs go on for miles and everyone could see. You could wear it, but only for me to see.” She grimaced and punched him in response, knowing he was only kidding her. It was nice to be touched by him, though she could read behind and between his words and she was not a naïve girl. She pulled his hands from her dress and clipped them on his side.

“Alright, we both had a long day. Let’s go to sleep now.”

“You promised.”

“Promised what?”

He trailed after her, caught the pair of flats she swung at him, and followed her into the bedroom. “About the bed.”

She feigned ignorance, though the heat in her face betrayed her. She pushed him out, telling him he was banned from her room. He caught her hand in his, his own trailing to help unzip the dress from behind her, his fingers making contact with her skin and she fought the shudder that ran through her. She felt a little too coward when prompted like that, her skin and every part of her alive from his touches, begging to be touched more. But she pushed him away again, quickly scrambling for the door to close it just as he tried to step back in again, the words, “Next time,” out of her mouth before she even thought of it.

“Next time then.” He called from outside, his tone a promise of things to come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting more touchy, aren't we Jaime? Now let's see more sex-deprived Jaime in the next chapter and see what he could manage to touch next time. Who's up for more touching? 
> 
> And Hyle makes an appearance! If you remember from BB, Jaime only knew the issue with Hyle at that time, so that would be much later in this fic...though I guess you've already sensed Hyle's part in this prologue would be bigger. Kudos to those who suggested Hyle in the comments, you've read my mind!
> 
> Anyway, I'd like to thank Ro_Nordmann for a beautiful beautiful banner made for this fic. Thank you thank you!
> 
> Kudos and comments are love. Chapter inspired by Ed Sheeran's One Night.
> 
> Tell her that I love her  
> Tell her that I need her  
> Tell her that she’s more than a one-night stand  
> Tell her that she turns my cheeks the colour of my hair  
> All I wanna do is be near


	17. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The silence hung around them thick as cough syrup and spiky as brambles, time seeming to move at a snail’s pace, the scent of the sea permeating in the study, the scent of Brienne still under his nose. He doesn't know how long had passed before Brienne’s father spoke.

The most intimate part of the wench that Jaime could claim to having touched were her breasts, though surely the _accidental_ brushes would not have counted, they were accidental after all, and with layers of clothing between the accidental touches and said anatomical parts, the touch could even be called non-existent. He had never felt _anything_ other than clothes so far (and skin, yes, yes of course, on her arms, waist and hips and legs) and the _really_ really closest he had come to touching most of her had been that moment when he reprimanded her about the shortness of the dress she wore to the Tyrell’s hosted dinner.  He could swear the wench had felt _it_ then (whatever anyone can call it, mood? Lust? Though surely _it_ was beyond that), judging by her pimpled skin, breathy voice and flushed face, he knew she had felt it, and he had almost gotten so close to undressing her, though he lost to the wench when she unceremoniously shoved him out of the room. But he knew he was that close, _that close_ , seduction had never been really his forte, why would he need to seduce anyone anyway? He was Jaime Lannister for fuck’s sake.

But he doubted a little bit at his capacity when it came to the wench. The final straw had been that little, too little, dress she wore at the party and even though he wanted to admit that damn it looked good on her with her legs that seemed to go on forever, he wouldn’t ever admit to being that insecure about her having that effect on him and him not having that effect on her. The wench could have at least have the decency to blush whenever he would take his shirt off and display his gorgeous _assets_ , not anyone can have the opportunity to look and touch after all, they were not for free thank you very much (though he could freely give them _all_ to the wench if she would want to).

The wench was especially busy the weeks succeeding the party and though his words had been more blatant than ever, more double-entendre, nothing seemed to have worked on the wench. He had let her be those days, she had looked tired and sleep-deprived and he was not a cruel man, so many nights he had simply held her while she had dozed off, though he was itching to slip his hands underneath her shirt and caress whatever softness was hidden there. He had, well, copped a feel those nights when she was dead to the world, though for sure it couldn’t count, her arse was nice and firm but he had never stole more than a simple brush of fingers against pyjama-clad behind.

But come that weekend he would make sure he would be well-acquainted with every inch of her body, and she to his. The Tyrell girl had told him to just go for the jugular, be direct, going around the bush would only prolong his _agony_ , and that she could assure him Brienne would be most willing (and Jaime doubted the latter, though surely the wench had developed some spunk to pull him on, her responses, promises of something that he knew she could not follow through). He had stared disbelievingly at the Tyrell rose, trying his best to hide his surprise at her seemingly omniscient knowledge about him and the wench. He had not provided her a reply, a grunt was all he had allowed, and then he had left, though he had seen the coy smile on the brunette girl’s face just as he had turned to leave. He never told Brienne of that confrontation.

It would be a long weekend, there were some holidays in the Reach that Monday and Tuesday and he was already thinking of where to take the wench. They had already agreed to go to Winterfell by the end of the year for Tyrion’s engagement and Jaime could never be more excited about the prospect, the possibilities, the opportunities, it was cold after all, and the cold would require heat. _Heat_.

The door opened just as he was about to congratulate himself for a well-thought of seduction plan, and Brienne came through the door looking like a tower about to be toppled over. He caught her, arms around her in an instant as she murmured words against his hair. “And welcome home. Long day?”

“ _Long day_. Randyll Tarly, you know him, he was with the Tyrells, he came earlier demanding some account summaries which I didn’t know where to get.” She let him drag her to the bed, shoes tossed in the corridor, bags left on the floor and Jaime watched as she began to undress.

“What happened?”

“I worked on it the entire day. Good thing Hunt came to inform me about the files.”

He furrowed his brows. “Hunt?” He helped her ease out of her blazer, his hands not failing to skim her sides, un-tucking her blouse from her slacks as he did so. He began unbuttoning her shirt and he watched her turn pink.

“He was a classmate in college. He is working for the Tyrells.”

“Hmmm,” he was on her third button when he decided to kiss her chin, his hands stopping their ministrations as he let them splay just underneath her breasts, cloth separating his palms from her skin. “Should I be concerned?”

“Concerned about what?”

“Hunt.”

She frowned. “Don’t concern yourself with anything Lannister. And watch where you’re touching.”

He laughed. “You want me Tarth.”

“Shut up.”

“You want me. You don’t need to ask.” He found herself pushed outside the bedroom again, and he could not help but laugh at her petty, naïve reactions to his touching. “I want you, just so you know.” He wondered if she heard, the doors in the serviced apartments were pretty thick after all. He had expressed his want of her in unimaginable number of ways, he had even managed to spit out some guttural Dothraki and Valyrian just to tell her he wanted her though the stupid, dense, giant of a woman hadn’t even moved a single muscle. She had merely stared at him and had thrown pillows in his direction. Maybe it was in his manner of speaking, and maybe he was coming across as always jesting, and he has that strong suspicion that the wench must have experienced something bad with men for her not to believe him after all those innuendos, confessions, and caresses. Maybe he would have to ask.

The bedroom door opened to reveal a pink-faced wench, freshly washed and he almost licked his lips. His initial reaction was to pull her into his arms, his hands doing the customary scan from her shoulders to her backside. She made a little noise when he pulled her closer, his hands hooking against the underside of her arse and the noise had the most delicious current zigzagging through him straight to his cock.

“We can take this further wench.”

“Jaime.”

“Just say yes.”

She smiled, unimpressed. “You are joking.”

“I am not. Say yes. Gods say yes.” He felt his cock stirring and he quickly pulled his hips back, deftly positioning his waking cock somewhere far from the reach of her hot skin. He almost groaned when she laughed again and took his hand to lead him to the bed.

“I am tired Jaime. You’re not in luck.” She turned her back to him and his hand cradled her, slipping around her waist to caress her abdomen. She caught his hand, pulled it up to tuck more securely around hers, pulling him closer. “Next time.”

“Next time.” He nodded, willing his arousal away. If she had not looked so tired the moment she had stepped through that door, he would have followed through but he would let her have it this night, they have a _long_ weekend ahead of them anyway.

 

 

Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was that weekend when Brienne suggested they go to Tarth. He had been wanting to go to Tarth, it was the wench’s home after all, but he had planned a list of things in his mind for that weekend and meeting his father was not really one of them. Though he would, of course, want to meet her father one day, though the sudden idea of her father had him feeling a little guilty about wanting to do all kinds of things to her. He even doubted he would have the capability to do all kinds of things to her with his father being in the same area.

The boat to Tarth took an hour from the Reach and the moment the boat landed at the dock, Brienne almost looked like a little kid, her eyes bright and excited, and the moment they stepped off the boat, she launched into a detailed explanation of the mythological origins of Tarth, a deeply interesting story, especially since it made him appreciate the wench’s mouth more, as he watched each word form on her pink mouth, wanting to be kissed and to be touched.

She explained to him the various histories of each structure they passed and though Jaime was easily distracted by the sway of the wench’s hips and ample behind, he knew Tarth was one of the most beautiful places he had seen that side of the world. The waters mirrored Brienne’s blue eyes and the warmth of the entire island reflecting that idea of home he found in the freckled girl.

Brienned offered accommodations and though he was tempted to suggest a rather old hostel instead (given his nerves about being in the same room as her father) he didn’t want to turn the offer down. It was the wench’s home after all, and he wanted to get to know her better and see where she had spent her childhood (though again, the pressing problem would be how to keep their voices down while fucking, though just the idea of fucking her in the bed she spent her childhood in, with her father just some doors away, was making him feel like a dirty old man).

His father was a burly man, tall, though Jaime and the wench were still taller, white-haired and pale-faced, freckled like the blond girl. He looked like the kind of fathers men were afraid of, and Jaime felt a curl of nerves in his gut, sweat beading so suddenly in his forehead that the wench looked at him with concern which he quickly waved her off.

“Brienne.”

“Dad.”

The wench never looked so happy then, and she almost looked small with his father all over her. It took them some time to fawn over each other (Jaime had almost felt jealous, Brienne was never like that with him, though of course he wouldn’t want to be her dad, he was not her dad thank the Seven) when her father turned to look at him, a scrutinizing look in his eyes and gestured for him to come forward.

“Nice meeting you Mr. Tarth, Sir.” Jaime almost blushed at the little squeak in his voice and Brienne snorted at him.

“No need to be so formal Jaime.” She looked at her father. “Dad, this is Jaime Lannister. Jaime, this is Selwyn Tarth my father.”

“And Mr. Lannister is what?” Her father’s voice echoed in the walkway.

Jaime’s face turned immediately to Brienne, expectant. He would’ve answered if he was the one asked, and he would’ve said they were as good as married, not a couple yet but definitely not friends, more than friends yes, not boyfriend or girlfriend, those were petty, but different, not lovers, they haven’t made love yet, and with the word lovers, it almost seemed as if there was only fucking and nothing more. What was between them was something more, beyond fucking and want and like and need. It was almost _agapic_ in a sense, though no, it wasn’t love. But he was almost close to revising his definition of love.

“Friends.” The way the word left Brienne’s mouth had him arching a brow, a move which caught her father’s eye because the next thing he knew, he was ordering a help to bring Jaime’s stuff to the guestroom, three doors away from the wench, the wench ordered to accompany the help, and Jaime commanded to follow Brienne’s father into his study. Brienne furrowed her brows, refusal ripe in her mouth when Jaime shook his head at her, gave her a thumbs-up sign and followed her father to the study. Brienne’s mouth was upturned but she firmly nodded at him.

Her father stood too still, leaning against the desk, while Jaime stood in front of him, trying hard not to rock on the balls of his feet, the stares of Selwyn Tarth too intense and boring into his skull. Jaime swallowed hard, felt his mouth getting parched and he took in a deep intake of breath which had him suddenly coughing. The silence hung around them thick as cough syrup and spiky as brambles, time seeming to move at a snail’s pace, the scent of the sea permeating in the study, the scent of Brienne still under his nose. He doesn’t know how long had passed before Brienne’s father spoke.

“What do you plan to do with my daughter?”

The question was not really surprising. He had been asking himself the same thing for a long time and Jaime knew each word to his answer by heart. “I plan to keep her sir.”

“Marry her you mean?” Selwyn Tarth seemed to be that kind of man who was not easily impressed and though Jaime did his best to look every inch a man worthy of being introduced to a father, he still felt a little intimidated and insecure.

“If that’s what she would want. I don’t plan on forcing her to do anything that she wouldn’t want to.”

“But I assume my daughter is still unaware of your plans for her.” Brienne’s father managed a little snort.

“She is.” Jaime bit his lower lip, “She is rather dense.”

Selwyn Tarth laughed, a hearty laugh and Jaime felt noises of laughter bubbling up in his throat. “Your efforts at seduction not working son?”

Jaime had almost exhaled a sigh of relief at the word son, though he felt it rather better to not be so sure about himself, it might have been just a term and nothing more. He kept his grin a little tentative, so he could easily pull himself into tight-lipped seriousness had Brienne’s father not really meaning the sudden affectionate term. “Seems not sir.”

“Well, I don’t see how that wouldn’t work.”

“I don’t see either. I mean…” It was the first time he was blatantly admitting defeat.

Selwyn was laughing again and Jaime felt a little too self-conscious, his mouth a little gaped at the sudden sound.

“I don’t think I’m obvious enough.”

“Your problem then.” Selwyn clapped his hands, still laughing, Jaime mirroring the smile until Brienne’s father composed his face into a stern mask, the sudden change causing a volley of nerves in Jaime’s stomach. “But let me tell you how it works here. You keep your hands to yourself while you’re here, she’s my little girl and I don’t want any man, be it you Lannister, coming to her in the middle of the night, stealing her in some dark passageways. She’s my daughter and she deserves respect.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.” The man made a little tight-lipped smile, his eyes trained on Jaime and he walked past him, a little clap on his back and Jaime felt all the air inside him expelled in a swoosh as the door creaked, signalling Selwyn Tarth’s departure.

 

 

Brienne was waiting for him at his designated bedroom when Jaime arrived. He only smiled at her, an arching brow was her response and she immediately pulled him close and wrapped her arms about him. “How was it?”

He smiled but slowly extricated himself from her, thinking that there might be some cameras installed, and that if he as much as touch her, her father would know. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Your father’s going to kill me if I as much as do that.”

She laughed, her eyes twinkling. “We aren’t doing anything that would make him kill you. We’re friends.”

“And you honestly believe that?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I?” She sat on the edge of his bed, she rather looked too still, though the slight flush on her cheeks betrayed her. Jaime knew she was also contemplating the possibilities of becoming more than friends, not that they were still friends, well, they would be forever friends, she had been the greatest friend he had ever have, but they could be something more.

“Because of this,” he had his mouth on her cheek, he wanted to kiss her mouth but changed his direction in the last second, just before he touched skin, afraid that he was reading it all wrong. He let his mouth travel on the underside of her chin, a little flick of his tongue which had her breath hitching, his hands reaching around her waist to pull her up on her feet, afraid to put her down on the bed. He tasted the soft skin below her ear and she let out a little noise that had him smiling, his teeth grazing her earlobe

“Jaime.” Her hands reached around to grab at his hair and he felt a little emboldened, pulling back a little to watch her eyes darken, the blue swallowed by desire and he felt her soft breath against his mouth and slowly he closed the distance—

Then there was a knock on the door and a voice saying that the food was served.

They both pulled back, Brienne red and flushed and heaving and Jaime mirroring her. It occurred to him that they looked as if they were caught fucking and Jaime almost berated himself for such a thought. The walk from her father’s study to his room had made him resolve to not to touch her, not yet, not here, he understood her father’s need to be reassured that she was choosing the right man after all, and he wouldn’t want to betray Selwyn Tarth.

“We’ll continue that. When we get back to Highgarden.” He said out loud, both to inform her and make her prepare as well as to strengthen his resolve. He looked at her then, a tongue running smugly down his lower lip and watched her grimace despite the blush on her face. She swiped at him but nevertheless took his hand and led him to the dining room.

 

 

Brienne had given him a customary tour of the island the following day. He had managed to avoid her father the entire day though when dinner came Selwyn Tarth had made it a point to have food prepared at the estate. It had been a rather interesting dinner, never had Jaime seen Brienne so happy, the lilt in her voice had been so light and he had found himself enjoying dinner despite her father’s scrutinizing eyes over the table. Her father had asked him several questions, about the Lannisters, about his past, rumors about Aerys and Cersei and Brienne had been quick to shield him from any disparaging comment from her father. Jaime had felt the need to answer, he had known how protective her father was of her and he would want to assure him, that even if he may not be the best man for Brienne, he could swear by the gods that he would make her happy (though swears and oaths had been something he rather found meaningless, except when it came to the wench).

The following day her father had surprisingly told him he expected him to take care of his daughter, though his words had been harsher, but at least Jaime was with some sense of certainty that her father had come to accept him (though he had said that his daughter’s bed was still off-limits). Brienne had seemed to find amusement at pushing him further off the edge of sexual frustration, asking him to come to bed, assuring him her father wouldn’t know, “We aren’t doing anything besides.”

“I might.” He had said and the way his hands ran along her hips was enough indication that he would, given her sudden pulling away. He had only laughed and kissed her cheeks and bid her good night.

On the third day Brienne brought him to the tallest cliff in Tarth and he had the most intense urge to kiss her then, it had almost been intoxicating, the height of the cliff rendering him a little light-headed and when he had looked at the wench, her eyes had been shining and reflecting the blueness of the waters, the vastness of the sky, the terrible, terrible, terribly wonderful beauty of Tarth and he felt a little frightened, at the sudden swell of feelings and he had stopped himself then, his mouth inches from hers and she had looked surprised, disappointed even and he had slipped his hand around hers and assured her with a squeeze that he would kiss her soon (which he had hoped she had understood).

 

 

Her post at the Highgarden was cut short when Renly Baratheon decided to move back to King’s Landing by the end of the year, deciding to expand the venture to cover even the capital and he had asked to bring the wench with him (much to Jaime’s annoyance, the Baratheon had been rather touchy with the wench, though the wench had placated him with the brushes of her fingers). Margaery had been smiling at him when she and the rest of the Tyrell host had seen them off at the terminal. Brienne had been flushing and looking so uncomfortable that he had felt the need to mark his territory by slipping a hand around her waist.

A certain Hyle Hunt (his name he had heard from the wench a couple of times) had stepped from the pack and to his wench and had shaken her hand to which Jaime blatantly stared. Brienne had looked flustered at the sudden attention and the man (who was plain-faced in Jaime’s opinion) had told her he would be seeing her at the capital soon, that they should go out for dinner sometime and that they should discuss some strategies for the venture.

“Brienne eats only home-cooked meals for dinner.” Jaime had interjected, “My home-cooked meals.”

The man had looked equally flustered, apologizing, though Jaime had not failed to notice the brazen look the man gave him which had him raising a brow. He had resolved to ask the wench about it when they get back to King’s Landing.

 

 

Brienne had reoccupied her little apartment at Cobbler’s Square, the bed, bath and the couch still surprisingly there and Jaime had moved some of his things to her place, had taken up residence in her house. It had been only a week, a week of busy refurbishing (Renly had given her some time off to move in) and Jaime had gone shopping with her, restocking the fridge, buying appliances and it had felt too domestic, as if they were newly-weds and he had voiced it out to the wench and the freckled girl had only frowned at him.

Tyrion’s engagement was scheduled the following week and he had secured plane tickets from the capital to Winterfell as soon as they had settled down, packing came next, it would be a two-week long vacation (which he had advised Brienne to file a leave for even before they left Highgarden) and Renly had agreed, he would be coming also anyway, along with the Tyrells. Brienne had made plans with Sansa Stark who would also be coming (given that the engagement would also be some sort of a business meeting, and the Stark’s business was a family-owned one).

He hadn’t the time to discuss new arrangements with Catelyn Stark, though the matriarch must have guessed it by now, he had followed Brienne to Highgarden besides, and news has wings.

“Welcome, welcome.” Catelyn was at the gates of Winterfell when they arrived. He shook her hand and smiled as Catelyn’s eyes travelled from him to Brienne, her lips pursed and expression unreadable. He nodded at her, a wordless affirmation of whatever gossip she had heard about the two of them. They were not officially together, they haven’t discussed it yet, the wench was too stubborn to admit they were anything but friends, but it doesn’t change the fact that there was something between them.

Catelyn returned the nod and gestured for Sansa, who had arrived there the day before, to show them to their quarters. “Are you sharing a room together?” Sansa arched a brow at him.

“No.” It was Brienne who answered and his response was to chuckle.

“Yes.”

They followed Sansa to the third floor, an adjoining room to be their room, “If ever you need to, uh, you know…though you don’t need to be discrete about it. Everyone _knows_!”

Brienne flushed a bright scarlet, a promise of retribution in her eyes as Sansa giggled and left. Brienne quickly stepped in her assigned room, the door immediately locked and Jaime laughed and slipped inside his room, quickly unlocking the adjoining door. The wench almost threw a pillow at him as he caught her, the force pushing them down on the bed. He grinned, mouth quickly latching on to her cheek.

“We have half an hour before lunch.” He whispered, fingers ghosting over her sides, slipping underneath her shirt, around her back. The wench quickly pushed him on his feet, threats spewing from her mouth as she pushed him out of the adjoining door, her curses echoing from the other side of the door.

Jaime decided they should join the day trip to the Wall the following day, regardless of the wench’s disapproval. The engagement party would be held the day after tomorrow and they have a lot of time to explore the North (and each other). The wench obligingly agreed, wrapped herself in furs and wool and took the monorail to the famous landmark in three hours. They took the first trip, ad it was still dark when they rode, Jon Stark and his girlfriend who he called Ygritte, the Manderlys and some Reeds (all Northern families) joined them in the monorail. He made talks with them while the wench stared passively outside. It was snowing and still dark, food passed around and the wench broke from her stupor when the sun rose.

“First time this far in the north?” Jon asked, sharing a cup of coffee with his girlfriend.

“First time in the north.” Brienne answered, thanking Ygritte for a sandwich. The redheaded girl had seemed taken up with his wench, and she left Jon to sit beside Brienne, launching into a heated discussion on swimming strokes.

An hour into their monorail ride, Ygritte fell asleep, and Jon dragged her from Brienne’s side back to him. “Aren’t you sleepy?” Jaime asked Brienne, his hands pulling hers to warm her cold fingers.

“Are you?”

He nodded and she gestured for him to rest his head on her shoulders and sleep immediately came to him.

 

 

They had explored the castle ruins and had climbed the Wall using some old shaft that Jaime had feared would not carry their weight. Brienne had called him a coward, pushing so far as to shake the shaft while they had been inside and Jaime had almost screamed and pleaded and the wench only laughed at him, poking him in his sides as the shaft came to a stop. He had glared at her but had held on to her hand as they walked the top of the wall. There had been a slight draft and he had huddled closer to the wench as they surveyed the expanse of white and black on the other side of the wall. There were lanterns on the other side of the wall, lanterns only lighted every evening and they had stayed until the evening just to see the lights.

“I would like to take a piss. But I fear my cock would freeze and fall off.” He had said and the wench had snorted at him, calling him a coward again.

When the cold had become too much to handle, the wench had suggested they go down, to which he had obliged but not before warning the wench about shaking the shaft again. Brienne had only grinned at him and had shaken the shaft as it descended, his almost-screams dying in his throat at the sudden drop of the shaft, ending with it reaching the ground with a rather dull thud which had the wench laughing. “I should have brought a camera.”

“Shut up.” But the wench had continued laughing.

They had been later informed that due to the sudden strong snowing, the monorail would not be operational and Jaime had suggested they take lodging in Castle Black, one of the castles at the Wall, converted into a lodging house for travellers. The Manderlys and the Reeds had gone back to Winterfell earlier that day and it was only him and the wench and Jon and his girlfriend who had been left.

“We should have gone earlier.” Brienne said as she sat on the bed, red in the face and slightly tipsy. They had dinner with Jon and Ygritte at the restaurant on the ground floor. Jon’s girlfriend suggested they drink something to fend off the cold and Jaime had known Brienne wasn’t much of a drinker though she had quite a high tolerance, but Ygritte had refilled her glass more times than necessary and Brienne had been too kind to turn her down.

“And what? Miss seeing the lights?” He slumped beside her, running his fingers through his hair. The heater seemed to be working fine though the cold had seeped deep into his bones. “Besides, we can see the sunrise at the top of the wall tomorrow.”

“Alright then.” She threw the covers and slipped inside, eyes heavy, turning the lights off, save for the bedside lamp as he slipped in beside her, the orange glow providing some sense of warmth. He placed a kiss on her nape as she turned her back to him, his fingers doing a customary trail from her waist to her hips.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“No. Sleep Jaime.” Her words seemed garbled as she buried her face on the pillows.

He smiled, pulling himself closer, letting his fingers move to her back to her shoulders. “You’re so tense.”

“I’m tired.”

He rubbed his fingers against her back, thumbs circling on her clothed flesh, pressure from his fingers to her flesh warm and heavy and she let out a contented sigh which had him smiling. His hands went south, slipping inside her shirt to touch actual skin, warm and freckled and she sighed once more, his fingers flitting past her sides as he moved further down, on the small of her back, on the slope of her backside.

“Jaime.”

“Brienne.”

“Let me relieve that tension.”

Her breath hitched, his palms splayed on the naked skin of her hips. There was a slight humming in her body and he pulled himself closer, one hand dangerously dipping to touch her abdomen, fingers grazing the waistband of her pyjamas. She caught his hand, just as he slipped inside, the cloth of her underwear soft and silky to his touch. “Jaime.”

“Just this Brienne.”

She seemed to have been contemplating, her fingers running circles on his knuckles as she slowly released him, his fingers quickly moving to slip past the cloth of her underwear, to touch her slowly, to dip slowly and gently between her thighs which had her tightening in his arms, pushing back against him, her feet moving back to touch his toes. His other hand slipped around her to catch her around her abdomen, a sound escaping her throat, a sound which sent blood rushing to his cock. He let her feel it, her sudden squirming enough to make him realize she had felt it and his hands rubbed slowly around her pulsing center.

“Jaime.” His other hand moved up to cup a breast through the layers of cloth she was wearing and she quickly stole his hand to slip it inside her sweater and guided it to her naked breast. He groaned, his cock uncomfortable in his clothes and he let it rub against her arse. He wanted to flip her on her back and make love to her though he was afraid he would be pushing too far, he would want to make love to her when they are both sober after all; she had allowed him to touch her, it would be too greedy of him to egg her on for something more. Would she remember this in the morning? He hoped she would as he slowly slipped a finger inside her which had her sighing, another and she was murmuring his name, eyes closed and hands catching his wrist. He twisted his fingers, his thumb continuously caressing her nub and soon she was shuddering in his arms, convulsing, sated and asleep.

“Good night Brienne.” He said as he began relieving himself beside the sleeping freckled girl.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I wanted to post this before I go on a mini (very mini!) hiatus until the 25th. I have stuff to do and deadlines to meet. Anyway, there were a lot of things happening in this chapter. And so they have touched! Was the tension relieved? BTW, I posted a fic in response to the JB Shuffled Challenge, hope you find time to read it (blatant self-promotion) LOL and send me comments <3 <3 <3\. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are love. More touching coming up after the 25th!


	18. Teasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the course of the two weeks Brienne had spent with them, she had learned much more about the male anatomy than in a biology class she had in undergrad.

Of course Brienne remembered. She had only been drunk, not amnesiac, though the details were hazy in her mind as if a fog had settled over her eyes and she could not see, not remember the _feeling_. Jaime had made no mention about it the following day and she thought that it would probably be for the best, maybe it was a hoax, or a slip, or something similar and Jaime had realized that what they did wouldn’t really do them any good. Besides, if a tree fell in the forest and no one heard, did the falling happen? Though there was a slight tingle in her spine whenever she looked at Jaime’s hands, at his fingers and she wished she could remember _all_.

They had watched the sunrise atop the Wall, Jaime’s good hand had curled around her waist, a slight tapping of his fingers that had her shivering. The Wall had looked bright and transparent, acting as a prism as the sun rose in the sky, the blue stark against the white and Jaime had commented on how it resembled her eyes. She had never seen something so beautiful, Tarth has a different beauty, the Wall had felt savagely beautiful, devastated and barren but a beautiful landscape of whites, blues, greys and blacks. Jaime had looked golden against the wintry colors, warm and she had felt herself melting as if he was the sun as he had pulled her closer, a grin on his mouth. By the time the sun had fully risen, they had decided to leave for Winterfell.

Jaime had unlocked the adjoining door to their rooms in Winterfell and had snuck in her bed, she found out when she returned. He had settled cosily in her large bed and had been dozing off when she walked in.

“You’re hogging the bed.” She pushed him away and his eyes opened as he pulled her against his chest.

“Come closer.”

She narrowed her eyes, his hand cradling her rib cage, his thumb rubbing circles just under her right breast. It felt good and familiar and when she lifted her eyes he was staring at her.

“You were so drunk last night.”

“Was I?”

He smiled, hand slipping to pull her closer, mouth reaching to bite her ear. She involuntarily craned her neck, providing him access to an expanse of skin. She shuddered when she felt his lips move down, under her jaw, down the length of her neck to the hollow between her collarbones. “Do you remember?”

She closed her eyes, wanting to say yes, but afraid to. She doesn’t know how it would go if she would say yes, she could hope for the best, but what she deemed best she hadn’t defined yet. She felt his hands slip inside her shirt, thumbs repeating their earlier movement, only it was now against her naked skin. She let herself move closer, her mouth on his golden hair. She knew what she wanted to say. “Yes.”

“Good.”

 _Good?_ She lifted his chin up, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“We could do it again. If you want.” His eyes were almost gold in the dim, glinting and hungry and she wanted to say yes as his hands crept to splay across the waistband of her sweatpants, his touch warm and hot against her skin, sending a delicious shiver through her, pooling and settling in the pit of her stomach. She shifted, her legs drawn tighter together.

“It wouldn’t be wise.”

He arched a brow, his _better_ hand slipping inside her sweatpants and languidly tracing the garters of her underwear. “It wouldn’t be. It would be _wiser_.”

“Jaime—”

He slowly moved down, bringing her sweatpants down as he did, the movement forcing her to suddenly pull up on her elbows as she watched him settle between her legs, the only thing separating them was that piece of underwear. He looked up at her, watched her watched him as he nipped the garters with his mouth, a sudden sigh torn from her lips as he slowly pulled it down and pressed a kiss on the little patch of skin just above her mound that he uncovered.

A shuffle of footsteps in the hallway followed by a sound which vaguely resembled her name and the realization that she had not locked the door had her pushing him away, the sweatpants quickly secured around her waist and a groaning Jaime beside her. The door opened slowly and Sansa’s red head appeared in the doorway.

“Oh.” Sansa blushed despite the sly smile she flashed. “Didn’t know you were busy.”

“I wasn’t.” She quickly retorted, slapping Jaime’s hand as it crept under the blankets and she stood up, away from Jaime and walked to where Sansa was standing. “Jaime just, uh, we were just talking.”

“Talking right.” Brienne could tell he was rolling his eyes from the tone of his voice. “Yes I was talking to her—”

“What brings you here?”

Sansa smiled at her knowingly and she quickly shook her head. “Well, I was wondering if you’d like to do a sleepover…well technically this is already a sleepover but you know what I mean, girls’ sleepover.”

Brienne laughed despite the groan issuing from Jaime behind her and she found herself nodding, afraid to get back into bed with the blond man, afraid of what he would do and of what she would allow him to do.

“Brienne for real?” he groaned again.

“I mean, if I’m not disturbing you guys or anything…” Sansa tried to look innocently at Jaime which had the man burying his face into the pillows.

“Yes, yes, I’m good. Who’s coming?” Brienne walked back to the bed to snatch one pillow from Jaime as he glared at her and shuffled back to Sansa.

“Asha’s here.” She had known Asha Greyjoy during her brief time at the Iron Islands and had met her again at the Riverlands. Asha had known Sansa for a far longer time, Asha’s brother had been fostered by Sansa’s father besides. The Greyjoy’s toughness and practicality appealed to Brienne and she still wondered how Sansa and Asha had hit it off when the two of them seemed like the opposite of each other.

“Great. Come on.”

“Are you sure?” Sansa gestured to the man glaring at them from the bed.

She looked at Jaime and the man pleaded with his beautiful eyes. Taking in a deep breath, ignoring the little voice in her head telling her to not be such a prude and get back to bed, she nodded to Sansa and walked through the door, the door closing but not before Jaime issued another groan.

“He had it easy,” Sansa whispered as they walked down the corridors, “Tease him a little Brienne.”

She wanted to tell the redhead there was no teasing that needed to be done, her and Jaime were nothing like that anyway, but somewhere in the back of her head she agreed that she had been too easy on him, and perhaps she should make him realize that if he wanted something from her, he would have to work hard for it.

 

 

It was nice talking with girls in her age group, Brienne had felt a little world weary with all the things that had happened and talking with Asha and Sansa had felt refreshing. Arya, Sansa’s little sister, joined in their sleepover and they had to hush Asha’s dirty mouth (which would put Jaime’s dirty language to shame) when Arya decided to stay. She had felt a little restless when it became evident they had to sleep, Sansa saying they have a few night ahead of them to enjoy each other’s company besides, and Catelyn wouldn’t want them lulling their heads in the breakfast table. She had felt restless because sleeping would have meant dreams of Jaime and his touches and she had felt tempted to crept back into bed with the golden man and see what he would do to her. But she hadn’t and had forced herself to sleep and had dreamt of Jaime.

“Girls’ night fun?” He asked that morning over the breakfast table, a sarcastic tone lacing his voice. Brienne noticed Tyrion cocking his head to listen to them and she moved closer to Jaime. “What did you talk about huh, boys?”

“Shut up.”

He huffed. “I could’ve given you a better night.”

“You’re just annoyed that you didn’t get what you want.”

He turned to her, the sudden movement catching everyone’s attention. “And what do I want Brienne?”

She pursed her lips at him, her eyes briefly gesturing to the rest of the occupants at the table. Catelyn had also craned her neck to look at them from the head of the table. She caught Sansa grinning and Tyrion arching a brow and saying something to Tysha.

He remained silent the entire morning and though she handed him a roll from the bread basket he didn’t even utter a thanks. She poked him in the arm just as he excused himself from the breakfast table, long after everyone had finished and had settled into little morning greetings and chats.

Brienne caught Tyrion’s eyes from across the table and when he gestured with a tilt of his head about Jaime’s retreating figure, she simply shrugged and finished her coffee and excused herself to no one in particular.

 

 

They had spent the remaining days exploring Winterfell and the nearest areas. She had ridden on a horse with the other girls to visit the Gift, a big expanse of land before the Wall and she had never felt so carefree and so young. She had thought that spending much more time with the girls was giving her new perspectives and making her feel more alive, though she had been missing the company of the insufferable man. She had been spending nights in Sansa’s big bedroom with Asha (Arya didn’t so very much like the talk about boys so she had returned to her room), and when Margaery had arrived the following week, she had decided to snuck in with them. Asha and Margery had soon hit it off, they had both lewd ways of thinking after all. In the course of the two weeks Brienne had spent with them, she had learned much more about the male anatomy than in a biology class she had in undergrad.

“So how is Jaime’s?” Margaery had smiled knowingly at her. Sansa and Margaery had taken it as their personal endeavors to inform Asha about Brienne’s and Jaime’s unconventional relationship (Brienne wouldn’t have called it “unconventional relationship” if she had been consulted first, there was no relationship _relationship_ besides).

“You mean, how is Jaime?” Brienne had asked, not quite getting the look the three other girls were giving her. Sure they were all working ladies, career women, mature and taking over the world, but at that moment, Brienne had felt a little too old with them acting like they were still in high school.

“I mean, how is _Jaime’s_?” Margaery had laughed and Asha had snorted.

Brienne had immediately flushed, the meaning rendering her mute. She had shaken her head, voice lost somewhere in her dirty mind as images of Jaime had sprung up in her head.

“You mean it’s a secret or you mean Jaime has nothing down there?”

“What?” She had asked incredulously, of course Jaime has something down there (though she hasn’t seen it nor felt it). “I mean, I don’t know. I haven’t seen…I mean, there’s no way I would see…I mean, we’re not like that!”

Sansa had been giggling by the time she had finished her messy speech. It was Asha who had pushed further. “Aren’t you interested?”

“In what?”

Asha had laughed. Sansa had replied for her. “In seeing _it_.”

“What?”

“And touching it.” Asha had added.

“And _feeling_ it.” Margaery had brought home the point.

“Of course not!”

“Of course not? By the Seven Brienne, did you look at that man? I’d do him if I were you.” Asha had put her own thoughts into words.

Brienne’s face had been burning by the end of the conversation. Of course she had not told them what happened at the Wall and what Jaime had been about to do the first night Sansa decided to have the sleepover. She wouldn’t have lived until the morning if she had spilled it all to them and she was afraid any more urging she would be breaking down the wall and throwing Jaime into bed.

 

 

A day before the actual engagement party she went to a shopping trip with the three girls and bought a new dress at Sansa’s insistence. She had wanted to wear pants but they said it would be improper given the nature of the event so she relented though she informed them she wouldn’t want anything shorter than some two inches above the knees. Jaime would be furious if it would be any shorter than the last one and she wouldn’t want to provoke the man. But she didn’t tell them tha,t though that doesn’t mean she was becoming some sort of a henpecked _friend_ (except Margaery gave her a knowing look). Jaime had been rather quiet about her those past days though the separation had brought him closer to Renly and Loras she guessed since she always saw the three of them together (sometimes with Tyrion) though a little voice kept telling her it was only because he had no choice. She got another blue dress, simple cut and lines and nice silhouette, made her look slimmer than she really was and the three girls liked it and complimented her which was a nice feeling. It was nice to have actual girls about her, and talk and do things that she had passed off as petty when she was still a teen and going through that process of trying to fit in albeit unsuccessfully. It was nice being able to talk and discuss things with them, though she missed Jaime.

Brienne found him on her bed reading a book. If he was surprised to see her he did not show, his reaction only was to raise a brow and tilt his head, his eyes still trained on the book. She sat on the edge of the bed on his left side. “I’m wearing a dress tomorrow.”

He closed the book and placed it on the bedside table. He eased up, back against the headboard. “Yes? Is it short?”

She laughed and shook her head.

“Will you show it to me?”

Her eyes darted quickly to the door and noted to herself that she had unlocked it when she came in, though she reminded herself it was not because she was thinking Jaime would get ideas (though she secretly hoped he would). She took out the dress from the bag and unfolded it, holding it up for him to see.

“I mean on you.”

She almost said no but her feet beat her to it and she found herself standing up, walking through the adjoining door and into his room to change. She heard Jaime telling her she could just change in her bedroom and she would have gone back hadn’t she heard him laughing. She was flushing when she was done changing and walking through the adjoining door. “So?”

He seemed to consider words in his head as he stood up to assess her more carefully. “You look…sexy.”

“Sexy?” She laughed disbelievingly. “I am not.”

He arched a brow, hands moving to rest on her hip.

“I’m flat as a board. And I’m huge.”

“You are. You are huge. But not as flat.” His hands skimmed to move up under her breast, palms on her ribcage and fingers under the swells of her breast, almost cupping. “Tall yes, long legs but not flat. No, not flat.”

Brienne blushed but did not stop him as his thumbs created circles on her cloth-covered skin.

“Never flat. Just enough to fill my palms.” He pushed up, his left hand cupping her right breast and she opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. “Stay here tonight Brienne.” His other hand snaked around her to settle on the small of her back.

But she took a step back and then another and across the room and into the other side of the adjoining door. She quickly changed back into her clothes as she heard Jaime shuffled from the other side of the room to stand before the door, a lone panel of wood standing between them.

“You’re a coward.”

“And you take advantage of me.”

His silence urged her to hurry up, slipping on her jeans and tugging her shirt securely. She was dressed in record time. “I don’t.”

“You do. You use me as a buffer.” She wondered where her words came from, the sudden pouring of words from her mouth into the air, telling of what she had been locking up inside all those times.

“Brienne.”

“You take me for granted.”

She wondered if he knew, if he understood what she was referring to. Those three months that he had been gone seemed to be so faraway in the past yet it still haunted her, hanging in the air like some shadow, like some ghost, taking the form of Cersei’s beautiful golden self. What do they say about the metaphor of the French staircase? It was that something that existed but no one would acknowledge that it does, because acknowledging it would render it real, and needing explanation. Like _them_. Cersei was their French staircase.

The door opened slowly, Jaime looking almost weary. He ran his hands through his hair as he crossed the distance between them, his hands pulling her into a tight embrace, his mouth grazing her ear. Brienne felt afraid, she knew acknowledgement would only bring one of two things: either he would accept or he would deny. And she was frightened of what Jaime would say, would do, would _not_ do. “I was just joking. I’m a coward as you said.” She tried to wrench herself free from him but his hold was too tight.

“You’re the bravest woman I know. And you’re the person I trust the most.” Jaime’s voice was pained.

“Thanks.” She tried to feign a laugh though it sounded dry to her ears. “But I was only joking.”

He looked at her, hands around her shoulders as he levelled his eyes with hers. The greenness of his eyes pierced right through her and she felt herself looking away, unable to contain the weight of his gaze. She knew what he was trying to say, and she understood, hadn’t he been there for her? Compared to all those times that they were together, what was three months? And hadn’t he been giving her his time as well? She knew it should never be a comparison of what he could do for her and what she could do for him, but sometimes she felt a little too little because she has nothing to offer. She was no beauty, she would never be and she sometimes felt that he was getting the losing end of the bargain by continuously staying with her. “You deserve someone better Brienne.”

Her eyes went back to look at him, the same words in her head now flowing from his mouth. She furrowed her brows, does he think, does he think himself too broken to be deserving of her? Too broken from his history and his losses to be deserving of her? Maybe she was the one taking him for granted.

“But I’m selfish.” He smiled wryly. “And I have a tendency to overreach.”

“Jaime.” She scrunched her nose at him. “They’re serving ham for dinner.”

He looked disbelievingly at her until he broke into a laugh, the mirthful sounds echoing in the room. “I lay my heart bare and you respond with that?”

“I’m hungry.”

“So am I.” But she knew he meant a different hunger.

“Don’t be so sentimental. You deserve the best Jaime, you’re a good man, and you’re a better man than you think you are.”

“Well then if you think like that,” he trailed his hands down her back, “I’d better take advantage of you.”

She rolled her eyes, pulling one hand to tug him towards the direction of the dining hall. He relented, laughing in her hair as he allowed himself to be pulled along.

“I’m sorry if you ever felt like I’m taking you for granted.”

“That was a joke.”

He squeezed her hand. “Jokes are half meant.”

“Then fine. Alright. Sorry too.”

He raised a brow. “For what?”

She stopped, eyes meeting his as they stood in the center of the stairwell. “If I sometimes take you for granted too.”

He grinned, kissed her cheek and whispered, “They’re serving ham for dinner.”

 

 

The engagement party was lovely and all that a future bride could wish for. Tyrion managed to seal a contract with Jon and he was particularly happy when he announced the wedding date, urging a blushing Tysha to join him on stage. There were songs and dances, a little medieval-themed thing, and everyone was drunk by the end of the night, Catelyn had even given a little song to the insistence of her daughter.

She kept her liquor intake rather limited, remembering that night at the Wall and Jaime seemed to have settled into a contented and quiet mood beside her, his hand around her waist, the other tending a glass of wine. She noticed he was not drunk as he would have been—he had been handed out drinks every so often, and Jaime had never declined, not even once, and had accommodated everyone who came to exchange little pleasantries with him.

Her eyesight was drawn to Tyrion and Tysha sharing a little moment in one of the tables, their happiness creating a glow about them that had her smiling. She looked at Jaime and found him mirroring the smile she has on her face and she playfully poked him on the cheek. “I think they’re perfect for each other.”

“They are.” He nuzzled the side of her face and she let him because it was dark and they had alcohol and it was a happy romantic night. People were milling about, dancing and laughing and singing and she couldn’t help a slight chortle when Jaime bit the lobe of her ear.

“It’ll be another year once we get back to King’s Landing.”

He took in a deep breath, inhaling her scent. “Celebrate the New Year with me Brienne.”

She was reminded of that past year and couldn’t help but be amazed at the length of time that had passed. It seemed like she had just known Jaime yesterday and yet at once everything seemed to have been a lifetime ago and they had changed so much, grew so much, since that time they first met at the Riverlands.

“Though let’s not make something similarly stupid like last New Year’s.”

She laughed despite the blush, turning her head to catch Jaime’s chin to place a kiss on his cheek. “Let’s spend New Year together then.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I did say after the 25th. So we're a bit earlier, turns out the deadlines have been pushed until the 30th and I needed to get this out so here. Expect the next chapter sometime end of October or early November. I'm thinking some three more chapters and we're done, the story has ran its course I think and then maybe we could move on to the next. The problem though with BB is it is not delineated, it's a story that could go on forever if you get what I'm trying to say and of course I don't want that, there are some ideas but I'm not sure yet, so maybe after TOT we have to wait a while to get BB started again. 
> 
> So it's quite a long note but well, hoped you like it. No song tonight guys, just feels.

**Author's Note:**

> This falls within the storyline/universe in the fic Becoming and Being, some sort of an articulation of the events mentioned there.


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